This story is more of an urban legend. Unlike the others that has mostly been written down as witness accounts, this one has been spread on mouth for generations, and it is difficult to know where it is from anymore.

“It happened a Christmas eve at a commerce city in Lofoten, that a servant boy was going to get the Christmas liquor from the storage down by the sea. It was dark, and it was bad weather. As he was filling the bottle he could see through the opening in the door that a draug came up from the sea. A Mareel light glowed around him, and when he came up he sat down in the opening of the door.

He was so big and wide that he almost filled the entire door, and it was impossible for the boy to get around him when he wanted to get out again.

Draugen then said: “Aren’t you going to pour me a drink for me on this sacred evening?”

“Yeah.” The boy answered. “Drink as you want.”

At the same time he tosses the bottle with all his might at Draugen, breaking it in pieces as draugen falls out the door.

I imagine the boy wasn’t slow to not let the chance slip away from him, and legged it back towards the farm. But when he had gotten a little of the way, he can hear yelling and noise behind him, like many hundred men came after him with leather clothes and sea boots. He could feel the cold sea wind from them, even as he had gotten all the way to the church yard that was between the sea and the farm.

Then he jumped up on the fence of the church, and yelled as high as he could.” “All Christian souls, come up and aid me!”

Then he legged it across the graveyard, and jumped across the fence on the other side. But behind him he could still hear the dead move and make noise, and it was commotions and bangs behind him.

The boy came home without the Christmas liquor, and with that they had to go to bed early that Christmas eve. The morning after the graveyard was filled with coffin lids the dead of the graveyard had used as weapons, and big sea weed covered anchors, broken oars and pieces of wrecks that sea draugen had used for the battle.”

(From Draugen – Hevnere fra havet page. 94-95)

This sort of legend is actually quite widespread, and it can be followed all the way back to Paris in the 1300’s. It is about a priest that read prayers over graveyards, and it seems to be around the same, besides that it wasn’t sea draugen that came for him, but enemies, that the dead in the graveyard rose up to save him from.

So we have gotten through a lot of different stories and versions of draugen now. There are a lot more as well, and even more if you start looking for stories about the dead buried in burial mounds around Norway in olden times.

As little bonus, I will add a old story about the same draugr that seems to be the one most people imagine with the creature. The vampire of Scandinavia.

“When the clock strikes midnight, you can, according to the legend, from a mound in Hjørungvåg, in the middle of the oldest settlement on Sunnmøre, you can hear a booming voice, that has thrown it’s echo through hundreds of years.

An autumn evening for over thousands of years ago, two sheep hearders settled down by a small river to get some rest. Suddenly they felt there was something out there circling around them. They looked at each other. What could it be? They heard breathing in the bushes behind them. A moment later they saw a sheen of yellow like animal eyes behind some trees in front of them. Something moved in the grass.

The two of them had hearded together since they had been boys. They had always looked like each other. But years of working the fields together had made them even more alike. Both were small and with a bent back. Their eyes moved all ways. They were dark, with rough skin, especially on their hands, cause they most often fell victim to the weather. Their fingers had been frozen so many times they had gotten twice as thick at the joints.

Now they sat there, their bodies frozen, and stared in front of them. They felt their own heart beat in their heads. They wanted to get up and flee, but they were too afraid to run right at whatever was out there.

Suddenly there was a form in front of them. He was taller than them, and so black he almost became one with the night. They were taken in a claw like hold and tossed up into the air like two sacks. One of them was hit unconscious against a tree trunk.

Soon he woke up again by a scream. When he turned he could see that his friend was hit into the ground. The dark form was on top of him and tore at his body.

He didn’t even think about helping his friend, but crawled to his feet again and ran home. He felt like he heard steps behind all the way. Then he remembers the dry fist with the sharp nails that had grabbed him in the neck. He screamed for himself while he ran home.

At home in his village, people had closed their door for the night. They had to close their doors at nights ever since the attacks had started. People couldn’t make camp in the forests anymore. They were attacked by something that dove down at them from the tree tops. It happened so fast it was impossible to see what it was inside the darkness. Lately, even animals that had been left outside to eat, had gotten ridden to death. Some had survived. They had been covered in bite marks, especially at the neck. It had been drunk blood from them.

At night the creature jumped up at their roofs. He rode the ridge of the roof. It cracked in the timber walls. People sat inside around the fire place and held around each other. They prayed to all that was good that their walls would not break.

But now they had hope. Grette Åsmundsson had come to visit. At his home Island, he had fought trolls before. They hoped he wanted to help them.

“Do you not have a village chieftain?” Grette asked.

“No.” The people answered. “Kár was our chieftain, but he died many weeks ago. We have laid him in the ground. He did have a lot of silver, a whole chest. That he took with him into the mound. We don’t even have enough money to buy help for.”

When Grette heard about the silver in the grave, he became interested. Grette had heard about Kár before, one of the biggest men anyone had seen. He had lived at one of he biggest farms in the area, but had been a lot at sea and pillaged. When he was home, and didn’t bother the farm people, he would sit somewhere and tend to his weapons. If anyone came close to him then, his glare was enough to make them turn away.

It was closer to midnight when the abused sheep hearder shambled into the village. He were barely able to knock on the door and yell his name before he fell over. The people opened up, let him in and undressed him. They called upon their house gods when they saw the wounds he had on his neck.

The day after the villagers went together into the forest. There they found the other hearder lying in the river. They had problems recognizing him. His body was drained of blood.

Then the villagers went down to the beach where Grette’s ship laid. They yelled at him and told him what had happened. Now they really needed help. They didn’t dare to go to their dead chieftain and claim his silver. But Grette could go in himself and take it as his payment.

Grette was a head taller than most people he met. Much of his face was covered in hair and beard. It only helped a little that the hair was tied up in a bun in the back.

It was his eyes that everyone took notice of. They were grey as the sea mist. And at the same time they showed a alertness that told people he noticed most of what was going on around him.

Grette dug up the mound the same day. He carried stone and shoveled earth until he came to the beam layers over the room where the dead chieftain sat. Then he cut his way through the thick beams.

Inside the grave it was dark. Grette had to feel his way. He felt along the walls. They were made of stone and earth, and some woodwork. After feeling around in the darkness for a while he could feel a pair of horse bones. Afterwards he kicked into a chair. He bent down. A man sat on the chair. That had to be Kár.

Grette felt down the dead man’s feet. They were placed over a tree chest. It was so heavy Grette barely were able to lift it. He got  it up into his lap. Then he started to walk towards the exit. Then the dead man jumped at him from behind.

Kár had him in a chokehold. He had to let the chest go. They flew across the room. After having fought for a while, Grette is able to free himself from the iron hold. He tossed the ghost into the earth wall. Kár flew at him again. He pushed Grette around in the room, and pushed him, slowly further and further inside.

Grette buckled all the muscles in his body. He pushed against with all his powers. Suddenly Grette let go. He jumped to the side. Kár fell forward on his head. Then Grette pulled his sword, and cut his head off.

Then he pulled the headless ghost into the deepest part of the burial mound. Then he got the head. Which he laid between the dead man’s legs. In the end he took the chest out with him, and covered over the mound again after himself.

Down by the houses people stood waiting for him. They were both excited and worried, cause they had heard sounds from the deep that made them weak in their knees. They were relived as they saw it was Grette that came. He stood in front of them and told them briefly about the battle. No one said anything before he was done. Then one of them asked.

“What happens if Kár gets his head back?”

Grette looked at him. It was like his eyes darkened a little.

“He won’t be able to do that.” He said. “Not in a long time.”

The legends of Kár has been told through the centuries and to our time. And still no one has answered the man’s question:

“What if Kár gets a hold of his head…?”

(Old legend, retold in Alle Norske spøkelser page 19-23)

sources:

Draugen – hevneren fra havet, Tore Skoglund 1992

Alle Norske spøkelser – fra hav til herregård, Bjørn Våde. 1999

Image used from Flickr. Image from page 375 of “The home beyond, or, Views of heaven and its relation to earth” (1898) https://www.flickr.com/photos/internetarchivebookimages/14596374198/