Terrifying & True | Frau Perchta, the Christmas Witch: Alpine Folklore and Chilling Christmas Horror - Weekly Spooky: Scary Christmas Stories | Terrifying Tales to Creep Your Holiday

Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:03):
On the twelfth night in the Alps. They did not
fear cold in their stockings. They feared a Christmas witch
who might cut them open and fill them with straw.
If your work wasn't finished, your house wasn't clean, or

(00:24):
your family broke her rules, the Frau Perchta did more
than just scolding. What you were about to beat is
believed to be based on witness accounts, testableies, and public record.

(00:46):
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(01:10):
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Earth for the support. And now we have more to

(01:52):
unwrap in the depths of winter high in the alpine mountains,
Christmas was never just twinkling lights and gentle carols. For
generations of villagers, the twelve nights after Christmas were a
time of fear, nights when a mysterious witch was said

(02:16):
to walk the snow. They called her fraw Perchda. According
to legend, she would appear as a radiant lady in
white slipping a silver coin in the shoe of a
hard working servant, or as a ragged crone with a
hooked nose, a single strange foot, and a hidden knife.

(02:41):
If your work was unfinished, your home untidy, or your
family too greedy. At the holiday table, Perchta would not
leave coal. She would slit your belly, pull out your insides,
and pack you with straw and stones, before sowing you shut.

(03:05):
Some have claimed to hear her wild hunt raging across
the winter sky, a phantom procession of demons and lost souls.
Others swore they saw her followers, the horned and howling Perchden,

(03:25):
stampeding through the dark to punish the lazy and reward
the diligent. Was Frau Perchta, a demon invented to terrify children,
a twisted remnant of an ancient winter goddess, or something

(03:45):
even stranger, a living, breathing tradition that still stalks the
Christmas season to this very day. The hour is late

(04:16):
on a bitter twelfth night in the High Alps, a
young girl hunches over her spinning wheel by the dying firelight,
fingers raw and heart pounding. She dares not leave even
a single strand of flax unspun. Midnight is approaching, and

(04:41):
she knows the rules. The cottage around her is spotless,
every stray bit of dust swept away in the hearth's glow.
A humble supper of fish and porridge simmers, the only
meal aloud on this night of epiphany. She will eat sparingly,

(05:07):
then set a heaping bowl of porridge on the doorstep
before she bolts the door. It's an offering, a placation
to something hungry roaming in the dark outside. The wind
howls over the snow bound village. As the girl finally

(05:31):
crawls into bed, she prays that she's done everything right,
for even if one chore was neglected, if she broke
even one tradition. Frau Perchta might come calling, and the
belly slitter does not forgive. These are the rules to

(05:58):
avoid fra perch does wrath. Number one finish all your
spinning by the twelfth night. Any flax or wool left
unspun by January sixth is a dangerous affront. Number two

(06:19):
eat only the traditional simple meal on Epiphany night and
nothing else. In many regions this meant fish and a
stodgy porridge or gruel rich or fancy food on Perchta's
feast day is strictly forbidden. Number three, leave a portion

(06:44):
of that meal as an offering for Perchda. A bowl
of porridge, sometimes enriched with harring or dumplings, must be
set out for her and her followers. Number four keep
the house clean and orderly. Perchta will inspect the spinning

(07:08):
room and hearth woe to the household that she finds
to be in disarray. And the final rule, tell no lies.
Some tales say Perchta can tell if anyone has been
dishonest or lazy during the year, and she loathes liars.

(07:39):
Break any of these rules, and, according to legend, you
invite a nightmare of retribution. Perhaps, if you're lucky, you'll
only wake to find your unfinished weaving trampled or burned
to ash. But if you've already angered thee so called

(08:04):
Christmas Witch, you could be found eviscerated, belly split open,
guts yanked out and replaced with straw and stones, sewn
back together with an iron chain. In the Alpine folk imagination,

(08:29):
the price of sloth or disobedience was nothing less than
your entrails. It's the dead of winter in a remote
alpine village, Snow piles high against timber cottages, and an
eerie stillness hangs. In the long nights. Families huddle by

(08:54):
hearth fires, casting anxious glances at dark corner. For in
these Rauchnachte, the twelve nights between Christmas and Epiphany, an
old legend comes alive. They say. A woman in tattered

(09:15):
garments may creep silently into homes. Perhaps you'll find a
kindly figure in white leaving a silver coin in your shoe,
or something far more horrifying. If the stories are indeed true,

(09:38):
a witch goddess called Frau Perchta is abroad, judging each household,
and woe to anyone found wanting, lazy, or disobedient, greedy
or unkempt Fraw. Perched A's punishments are the stuff of nightmares.

(09:59):
On this chill December evening, we delve into the folklore
of the Fraw and her demon entourage, the Perchtin. But
let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet. That's a
gift we'll unwrap in just a little bit. Frau perched

(10:23):
As story reaches back into the mists of Alpine and
Germanic tradition. In fact, the name Perchta, also called perched
Berchta or Bertha, likely derives from an Old word for
bright or shining, hinting at her ancient role as a

(10:45):
goddess of light. Her name is even linked to birchton Tog,
the feast of Epiphany on January sixth, a date that
will become central to her legend. According to folklorists, Perchta
may have begun as a benevolent Alpine goddess akin to

(11:08):
Frau Holley in the North. Jakub Grimm, the famous nineteenth
century collector of fairy tales and myths, described Perchta, whom
he called Frau Berchta, Hollas or Holda's southern cousin a
white robed spirit who oversaw spinning and weaving and domestic

(11:33):
order during the twelve Days of Christmas. It's worth noting
that originally the twelve Days of Christmas actually began on
December twenty fifth, as opposed to the more modern interpretation
of the twelve days leading up to the holiday. In

(11:54):
her original form, she was a nurturer, a guardian of
animals and children, and even a psychopomp guiding the souls
of those who died young. As Birchda the Bright One,
she protected forests and wildlife, and cared for the souls

(12:15):
of unbaptized infants sometimes called the Hindchen in the afterlife.
In many ways, she stood at the threshold of worlds,
between life and death, between the old year and the new,
between winter's darkness and the return of light. Yet if

(12:39):
Perchta began as a benevolent winter mother, history did not
permit her to remain so. By the Middle Ages, the
spread of Christianity had transformed many pagan deities into feared

(13:02):
witches or demons. The Catholic Church, uncomfortable with the persistent
worship of a powerful female pagan figure, waged a campaign
to reshape or erase perched A's image. Early church records
complain of Alpine peasants leaving offerings for Frauine perched instead

(13:28):
of praying to the Virgin Mary. In the account from
the thirteenth century, a monk noted with dismay that on
Christmas Eve people set at table for the quote queen
of Heaven, whom they called frau Holda, hoping for her blessing.

(13:52):
Such customs earned stern condemnation from the pulpit. The church
labeled Perchta a demon and warned that those who honored
her were consorting with the devil. Medieval clerics railed against
sinners who left food for Perchta on her night. In

(14:17):
a series of fiery sermons, Martin Luther himself attacked this
once goddess. He mocked frau Holde as an infernal impostor
defying God. Quote here frau Holde steps forward with her
big snout, defies her God and calls him a liar,

(14:43):
Luther sneered in one tirade. The strategy was effective. By
demonizing Perchta, the Church turned a benevolent lady of winter
into a menacing hag, and, perhaps inadvertently prepared stated her legend.
In the process, the once bright Epiphany goddess was recast

(15:09):
as a dark specter. By the sixteen and seventeen hundreds,
she was widely known by a fearsome new nickname, the
belly Slitter, a terrifying cron who dealt death to the disobedient.

(15:29):
Despite the church's vilification, folklore remembers that Frau Perchta wears
two faces. In some tales, she still appears as a
radiant white lady, dressed in pure white and gliding through
snowy forests on the twelfth Night. This benevolent aspect, sometimes

(15:54):
called Bertha, is gentle and generous, bestowing blessed on those
who honor her. True to her name, she can be
as bright and beautiful as freshly fallen snow. A hard
working servant might awaken to find a silver coin that

(16:17):
Perchta left in a shoe or bucket as his or
her reward. In these stories, Perchta remains the Lady of Epiphany,
bringing luck and prosperity for the new year to the virtuous,
But Perchta's other face is hideous and cruel. Many describe

(16:43):
her as an old crone wrinkled and wild haired, with
a long hooked nose and ragged clothing. In some regions
they say she has one large foot, sometimes called a
goosefoot or swanfoot, that reveals her supernatural nature. Jakob Grimm

(17:07):
interpreted this odd foot as a relic of her divine nature,
a shape shifting swan maiden who cannot fully shed her
animal form. Others more practically noted it might come from
operating an old spinning wheels treatle all night long, giving

(17:30):
her a splade spinning foot, as it was called. Whatever
her form. When Perchta walks the winter roads as a hag,
she strikes fear into mortal hearts. In Austrian folk tales,
she lurks at the crossroads as a bent little witch

(17:52):
with gleaming eyes. If a lonely traveler passes by, she
might greet him with a friendly smile and offer a
small piece of black cloth. Beware accepting this strange gift
is a fatal mistake, one old account warns quote when

(18:18):
one approaches, she holds out to him a black cloth.
If he takes it, he is done for and will
certainly not survive the year. The only escape, they say
is to recognize the crone as Dame Perchta and recite

(18:40):
a protective prayer, show her a blessed cross, and command,
Dame perched throw the cloth on the earth, and the
black cloth will fall from her hand, its curse dispelled.
Only then will every joy and blessing come to your

(19:03):
house instead turning Perchta's curse into a boon. Such is
the dual nature of Frau Perchta, wondrous power over fate,
yet utterly merciless to those who cross her. Folk tales

(19:24):
reflected a mix of awe and dread. Villagers longed for
her favor and feared her wrath in equal measure. As
one Folklorus noted quote, men are fascinated by her, but

(19:48):
their feelings are mixed, and fear is mingled with longing.
Perchta is a single being with a Janus face, evolent
guardian on one side, vengeful witch on the other, And
in her role as a midwinter judge, she embodied the

(20:12):
old notion that as you sow, so shall you reap
good or bad, diligent or lazy. In the bleak midwinter,
Perchta would render to each their due more than anything
frau Perchta's legend centers on domestic diligence. She is obsessively

(20:39):
concerned with the state of the home, especially the spinning room.
In German, one of her nicknames was spin Steubenfrau, the
spinning room lady. Throughout Alpine villages, girls and women were
warned each year to finish all of their spinning by

(21:03):
the twelfth night. When Christmas is over, the holiday lull ends,
it's time to put thread to loom and begin weaving
for the new year. This may seem quaint or odd,
but in this time period, if your home was not

(21:24):
clean and well kept, it could lead to certain death,
especially for children and the elderly, and getting your weaving
done could mean the difference between surviving a cold winter
and freezing to death. Frau Perchta expects every spool of

(21:45):
flax or wool to be spun, and every room to
be tidied, with no unfinished skines lying about. If you
were lazy or negligent, she would know. Woe betied the
girl who failed to meet her quota. Imagine the horror

(22:09):
of waking to find your year's work, the precious flax
you left half done. Smoldering to ash on the distaff.
It was a dire warning do your work on time,
or Perchta's anger will find you. But destroyed yarn and

(22:33):
ruined work rooms were actually the milder penalties in Perchta's arsenal.
Her legend is most infamous for a far more grisly punishment,
one that earned her that infamous nickname, the belly slitter.
If a household had been naughty, slovenly, or idle frau,

(22:58):
Perchta would not have to cut people open in the
dead of night. She might steal into the bedroom of
a lazy child or maid, draw a long knife from
under her skirts, and slid open the victim's abdomen. She

(23:18):
would then reach in with clawed hands and pull out
the stomach and guts. In the gaping cavity, Perchta would
stuffed straw, pebbles and garbage before sowing the person back
up like a grotesque ragdoll. What a chilling image and

(23:41):
innocent lying in bed, disemboweled and packed with farmyard refuse
a macabre tableau to greet the household in the morning.
This was the fate of those who earned Perchtah's ire
as one nineteenth century source vividly recorded quote, whoever has

(24:06):
partaken of other food on her day, she cuts his
belly open, fills it with chopped straw, and sows up
the gash with a plowshare for a needle, and an
iron chain by way of thread. Little wonder that children

(24:26):
grew up fearing this specter. The mere mention of Perchta
will come and gut you was enough to keep many
a youngster on their best behavior through Christmas time. What
could provoke such nightmarish retribution? Several offenses are mentioned in

(24:49):
lore Laziness's paramount, failing to complete one's allotted spinning or
leaving the house in disarray. Perchta's described as quote pretty
judgie about the state of your home. For a woman
who dresses in rags, as one author quips, she cannot

(25:11):
stand a messy house. Dishonesty could invite punishment as well.
Berchta was said to know if anyone in the household
had told lies during the year, and interestingly, breaking certain
rules on her feast day epiphany was a grave transgression.

(25:34):
In many regions, a traditional simple meal was set for
January sixth, and one was not to eat anything else
that night. If someone dared to feast on richer fair,
Berchta's vengeance was swift skip the prescribed meal or forget

(25:55):
to leave her a serving of it, and you might
just find yourself elf eviscerated by mourning. This element of
the legend strongly suggests Perchta's roots in ancient ritual. The
humble meal was likely an offering to her, a way
to honor the old goddess with proper fare. Indeed, in

(26:21):
some areas people did leave a bowl of porridge out
for Frau Perchta, specifically, much as one might leave out
milk and cookies for Santa Claus, though in Perchta's case
the motive was fear rather than love. One regional custom

(26:43):
held that on twelfth night you must set out a
bowl of peshten milk, a rich milk porridge, for Perchta
and her followers. In Tyrol, it might be a dish
of dumbs. In parts of Germany, herring and grits were customary.

(27:05):
In Austria, there was a special dish specifically called perchten mirch,
made of oatmeal and herring. The family would eat part
of the simple supper and leave the rest as an
offering on the doorstep or even on the roof for
the roaming Perchta. If by the morning the offering was untouched,

(27:32):
well perhaps Perchta was not pleased. Legend insists you mustn't
forget One tale says that in Old Tyrol, if you
neglected to leave her a portion quote, her rampaging will
extend far beyond your slovenly spinning room, straight to your insides.

(28:00):
In short, remember the rules that I laid out at
the beginning of the program, or be prepared to suffer
the bloody consequences. These morbid inspections were said to occur

(28:25):
during Zwolften, the twelve nights after Christmas. Folks believed Frau
Perchta would slip into homes sometime between December twenty fifth
and January sixth, but most especially on Epiphany Eve, the
night of January fifth. As the holiday season ended, Perchta

(28:49):
made her rounds think of her as a dark mirror
to kindly old Saint Nicholas, where Saint Nick brings gifts
in earth December or on Christmas, Perchta brings judgment. As
the new year dawns, she arrives unannounced perhaps accompanied by

(29:14):
a sudden gust of cold wind or the scrape of
a broom against the threshold, and peeks into every corner.
She'll notice if the floors haven't been swept, if the
flax bundle lies half spun. She'll know if the children

(29:35):
have been disobedient, or if they've shirked their chores. In
one hand, Perchta carries a small reward, that silver coin
for the diligent. In the other, she conceals her deadly knife.
It's the ultimate carrot and stick approach. Rendered Visceral parents

(30:02):
could warn their offspring, finish your work and behave, or
Frau Persta will cut you open and fill you with straw.
For centuries, this threat was taken seriously in Alpine villages.
The imagery was gruesome, but it reinforced critical values in

(30:24):
a harsh environment, industriousness, cleanliness, and respect for tradition. Winter
in the Alps was unforgiving. A family's survival often depended
on everyone doing their part, spinning thread for clothes, preserving

(30:46):
enough food, keeping the home secure. The belly slitter became
the embodiment of those high stakes slack off and pay
in blood. Beyond the chores, and punishments. Frau Perchta's lore

(31:07):
is woven with dark magic and ghostly phenomena. In some legends,
she's not just a lone witch making house calls, but
the leader of a phantom procession that rages across the
winter skies. This trope, which is often referred to as

(31:29):
the wild Hunt, is common in European folklore, a spectral
cavalcade of spirits sweeping through the night, usually led by
a supernatural figure. In Germany's North, it was said to
be led by Holda or even Odin. In the Alpine South,

(31:53):
folks whispered that it was Perchta who led the wild Hunt,
flying above the tree tops with an army of lost
souls in her wake. During the deepest dark of winter,
particularly the Raunachta people claimed they could sometimes hear perschdas

(32:18):
furious host passing overhead. Just imagine a howling wind rises
on a moonless January night, battering the shuddered cottages of
some lonely alpine hamlet. An old farmer, remembering the tale

(32:40):
of his youth, freezes in bed. Was that thunder or
the rumble of distant hoofs the gale outside builds to
a cacophony, and he realizes it's not mere wind at all,

(33:00):
but screaming voices carried on the air. Through a crack
in the shutters, he spies a flicker of movement against
the sky, a ragged woman flying astride a broomstick or distaff,

(33:24):
leading a horde of shrieking figures around her swirl, misshapen demons,
and the pale ghosts of unbaptized children, their pitiful wails
mingling with the roar of the storm. One tiny specter

(33:45):
at the tail of the host drags a pitcher that
spills tears into the snow. The farmer's blood turns to ice.
He fumbles for the sprig of blessed said herbs above
his bed, Saint John's wart protection against evil, and clutches

(34:09):
it tight, murmuring a prayer as the wild hunt of
Frau Berchta screams overhead. In the morning, when the neighbors
speak of the terrible winds, he alone will know what
truly passed through that night. In many regions, people genuinely

(34:36):
feared encountering this ghostly procession. Quote. If you hear the
wind and thunder roaring through the mountains, on the Birchdel knights.
One folk tale says, you're really hearing the sounds of
Perchta leading the wild hunt. At such times, sensible folk

(35:04):
barred their doors and stayed inside, lest they be caught
in the spectral onrush. The devout kept protective charms on hand.
For instance, if Dame Perchta were to appear in your
barn or stable, hanging consecrated herbs like the aforementioned Saint

(35:27):
John's wart was said to ward her off. Otherwise your
livestock may fall ill or drop dead in her wake.
Some families even left a small portion of their holiday
supper on the doorstep as a little buffet for Perchta,

(35:51):
hoping to appease the much dreaded lady and divert her wrath.
Folklore collected in the early nineteen hundreds in Salzburg captures
how real Perchta felt to the peasantry. An englishwoman who

(36:15):
witnessed a traditional Perchdin festival wrote that the local people
not only believed in Perchta, they feared her. They spoke
of how she haunts the hohen Salzburg Castle, wandering its
halls at midnight. They told of meeting Perchta on country roads.

(36:39):
That eerie Crossroads tale of the Cursed Black Cloth was
among these stories showing how a traveler's clever use of
a crucifix could turn Perchta's curse into a blessing. In
those tellings, Perchta personified faith itself. Accept a gift from

(37:03):
her and perish, or face her down with faith and
earn fortune. It was a deadly gamble that spoke to
Perchtah's uncanny allure. She was terrifying, absolutely, but also strangely

(37:25):
enchanting in her power. One might almost want to see
her to know that she's real, but pray that if
you do, it's the benevolent white lady who appears, and
not the crone with the knife. But now let's shift

(37:51):
gears a bit and unwrap Frau Perchta's fearsome horde. The
very name Dame Perchten is simply the plural of Perchta,
and in folklore it came to denote the eerie creatures
in her entourage. Over time, the Perchten took on a

(38:14):
life of their own. In local tradition, these beings were
described as something between spirits and mortal folks. Inhabiting the
wild places and only emerging around Yuletide and Epiphany. Like
Perchta herself, they split into good and evil kinds. The

(38:41):
Schunperchten or beautiful Perchten or bright benevolent creatures, envisioned as radiant,
almost angelic figures or friendly forest sprites who bring luck
and wealth. The schiacht Perchten or ugly Perchtin, by contrast,

(39:06):
or vicious demonic beings with fanged masks, tusks, and horns.
In many depictions, these ugly Perchtin appeared as shaggy, goat
horned monsters wielding whips or cowtails. In folk imagination, the

(39:28):
chiach Perchen or genuinely frightening quote. They are more felt
and heard than seen, wrote one Salzburg local, recognized by
their weird screams and laughter, It was said that on
the darkest winter nights, these malevolent beings would swarm down

(39:53):
from the mountains, invisible except for the sound of their
eerie screeching and cackling as they passed through the villages.
People claimed the ugly Perchtin loved to lure travelers off
their paths with disorienting noises or to punish those guilty

(40:17):
of misdeeds. Imagine walking home on a cold night and
hearing unearthly laughter echoing in the woods behind you. Alpine
villagers certainly did, and they knew it was the perchtin
at mischief. On the other hand, the shun Patchten were

(40:43):
welcomed whenever they chose to appear. These lovely spirits were
believed to bestow blessings, health, prosperity, and fertility for the
coming spring. Some tales even refer to Frau Perchta herself
as the most beautiful percht and the devil as the

(41:07):
most ugly, as if to personify the extremes of her retinue.
In essence, Perchta was the leader of both kinds of Perchtin,
a mistress of dualities. By the fifteen and sixteen hundreds,
we have records of people re enacting the Perchten as

(41:30):
a folk practice. It seems communities started channeling their fear
of Perchta and her hoarde into performative rituals. Young men
would dress up as the shiacht Perchten, donning hideous wooden
masks with horns, draping themselves in shaggy fur and rags,

(41:54):
and go door to door, making a ruckus. The idea
was to drive out evil spirits and perhaps even scare
away fral Pershta herself or at least any malevolent forces
she brought along. Essentially, they were fighting fire with fire,

(42:18):
becoming monsters to ward off monsters. Very Halloween sowin vibes.
There In some areas, this mummery was explicitly done on
the twelfth Night as a safeguarding ritual. Think of it
as a rural exorcism meets carnival villagers donning demon masks,

(42:44):
ringing bells, cracking whips, and shouting to chase away winter's darkness.
Folklorists view this as a classic inverse ritual, taking the
image of what you fear the perchten, and turning it
into a communal celebration in order to neutralize that fear.

(43:10):
Not surprisingly, the Church frowned on these noisy pagan charades,
and authorities sometimes tried to ban them as relics of heathenism,
but the tradition persisted and adapted with the times. One

(43:30):
remarkable eye witness account from nineteen o eight describes a
Perchtenloff or perchten run in Salzburg, a folk procession that
had seldom been performed in living memory. The festival began
quietly until the distant jingle of bells and shuffling of

(43:53):
feet announced the approach of strange visitors. First came the
shoon Perchten, the Beautiful Perchtin, arriving with great fanfare. These

(44:14):
were local lads dressed in fantastic finery, wearing towering headdresses,
some reportedly ten or twelve feet high. The headpieces were
marvels of craft, red velvet, draped in mirrors and silver
ornaments glittering in the torchlight. On the very top of

(44:41):
each contraption sat a crown, above that a crescent moon,
and above that a star. Some headdresses even featured enormous
bird figures. One man's included dozens of stuff wild birds,

(45:01):
topped by a giant outspread peacock. The Beautiful Perchten carried
swords in one hand and led their partners, men dressed
as women, in graceful looping dances. They represented the return
of light and order, a pageant of good fortune for

(45:25):
the new year. Villagers cheered and clapped in time with
the music as these white clad figures twirled through the market. Square,
their mirrored crowns tossing sparkles of light. But once the
shoon Perchten had made their elegant display, the atmosphere would change,

(45:51):
lurking at the edges of the torchlight where the ugly
perchten waiting for their cue. Suddenly, a piercing shriek ripped
through the night, then another and another. The crowd murmured

(46:14):
nervously from an alley burst the Schiachperton in all their
terrifying glory. They wore horned devil masks with long snouts
and snapping jaws. Their shoulders were draped in animal pelts.
Cowbells clanged around their waists, announcing their every move with

(46:40):
a deep metallic cacophony. These demons pranced and lunged at onlookers,
feigning attacks. Children in the audience screamed and darted behind
their parents, only to erupt into laughter when a particularly
playful patch swatted someone's leg with a dried animal bladder

(47:05):
or a broom of twigs. The village square became a
scene of pandemonium, firelight and shadows, angelic figures and horned beasts,
laughter and startled cries, all mixing together. It was cathartic
in a controlled festive way. The community was confronting its

(47:30):
darkest fears, scaring off the evil of winter so that
spring could safely come. As one observer noted, the Perchtenlauf
felt like the villagers were wearing out the hauntings of
Perchta's knights through noisy celebration, chasing away the gloom with

(47:54):
a dose of ritualized terror. The legend the Frau Perchta
might be one of the most violent Christmas Time folk tales,
but she is not alone in Europe's pantheon of Yule
Tide boogeymen. The Alpine regions in particular, team with sinister

(48:17):
companions to Santa Claus. The most famous today is Crampus,
often dubbed the Christmas Devil. Like the Perchton, Crampis is
depicted as a horned harry demon who carries chains and
birch switches to thrash naughty children or a basket to

(48:42):
kidnap them away. Traditionally, Crampus accompanies Saint Nicholas on Crampis
knocked the night of December fifth, visiting homes to punish
the bad while Saint Nick rewards the good. In recent years,
Crampus's popularity has surged worldwide. Parades of costumed Crampei participating

(49:08):
in cramposlof now occur in many cities, and he's appeared
in everything from greeting cards to horror films. Interestingly, Crampus
is a relatively late addition to the holiday cast. Some
folklorists trace Crompus to pre Christian Alpine beliefs, but in

(49:31):
his current form as Saint Nick's sidekick, his legend dates
mostly to the nineteenth century. Perchtas Perchten, on the other hand,
seem to be an older native custom, one that possibly
inspired the very image of Crampus. Another figure, lesser known

(49:55):
outside of certain communities is Belschnikel, origin doating in the
German Palatinate and brought to America by Pennsylvania Dutch settlers.
Belschnikel is a crotchety, fur clad man who visits a
week or two before Christmas. He carries both treats and

(50:16):
birch switches. When he comes knocking, Belschnickel will barge through
the door and quiz the children on their behavior. Those
who can prove they've been good receive a handful of
candies tossed on the floor, while the naughty or overly
greedy feel the sting of his switch. Often it was

(50:42):
just a neighbor in disguise putting on a raucous semi
comical show, but the purpose was the same to scare
the children into behaving. In France, a similar character, Perforta,
or Father Whipper, has a very dark origin, which will

(51:05):
be covering next week on the show. He's a dark
clothed helper of Saint Nicholas who hands out coal or
floggings to bad children. Even Santa Claus himself had a
darker edge. In some older traditions. In parts of Central Europe,

(51:26):
there were stories that Santa would stuff naughty kids into
his sack and carry them away, a role later delegated
to sinister companions like Crampus or Belsnickel. Compared to all
of these, however, Frau Berchta stands out for sheer ruthlessness.

(51:49):
While Crampus might swat and Belschnikel merely scold, Berchta promised
a far more gruesome fate to those who broke her rules.
She is more akin to an outright witch or ogres
from a dark fairy tale than a mere holiday sidekick.

(52:11):
In the gallery of scary Christmas figures, Perchta easily earns
a crown as one of the most frightening. The others
are largely punitive sidekicks invented to support the Saint Nicholas legend.
Frau Perchta, by contrast, due to her dual identities, is

(52:33):
both judge and giver in her own right, rooted in
pre Christian nature worship, only later entwined with the Christmas season.
This makes her a uniquely potent figure, a fusion of
ancient deity and folk demon. One might think that in

(53:02):
the twenty first century the tale of Frau Perchta would
have faded into a quaint historical footnote, but not so.
In the Alpine regions of Austria and southern Germany, Perchta
and Herperchten are alive and well in winter traditions. Far

(53:24):
from being suppressed, the old practices have resurged as popular
festivals equal parts cultural heritage and spooky fun. The most
famous are the aforementioned perchenlof large processions that take place
during the deep winter months in Austria's Pongau region, for instance,

(53:50):
villages host processions featuring elaborate costumes. The beautiful Perchton Parade
with their enormous ornate head pieces and symbolic props said
to encourage good fortune and wealth. Right behind them come
the ugly Perchton, clanging bells and growling through boar like masks.

(54:12):
Its a spectacle of light and dark. Picture a troop
of haloed benevolent figures, followed by a horde of horned
demons scaring the crowd, a literal pageant of duality. These
events draw huge crowds. Today. What were once small village

(54:34):
observances have in many cases become regional festivals and even
tourist attractions. Towns proudly advertise their Perchtenlauf dates, and travelers
come from afar to witness the wild men in beastly
costumes clashing through the streets. Ski resorts in the Alps

(54:58):
often incorporate p Rchton runs or Crampis runs into their
holiday programs, adding a dash of thrilling folklore for winter visitors.
The Glockerloff in Upper Austria's Salzgamergut, for example, is a
beautiful new year's tradition, on the eve of January sixth,

(55:21):
dozens of men in white march at night, carrying enormous
illuminated lanterns on their heads, ringing in the final Rauchnacht
with light and sound. In some Pinsgau communities, the Trestorer
dancers perform, likely an offshoot of the Schunperchten, featuring costumed

(55:45):
young men on stilts or in fine attire enacting ritualized
steps to bless homes and insure fertility. Each valley has
its own twist on the theme, but all hark back
to the core idea of banishing the dark and welcoming

(56:06):
the light as the new year is born. Crucially, Frau
Persta herself is not forgotten in these modern celebrations. In Salzburg,
local still speak of her ghost roaming the Hoen Salzburg
Fortress at night, the same castle she was said to

(56:29):
haunt in old legends. She sometimes affectionately called the Christmas
Witch in popular culture, and you might even find her
name in holiday folklore books or local tour guides, positioned
as a sort of female counterpart to Crumpus, though as

(56:49):
we noted, she's so much more than that. Storytellers and
neo pagan practitioners today have also reclaimed hich does older identity.
Rather than emphasizing the evil Hag, they celebrate her as
an ancient goddess of the Alpine winter, a stern but

(57:12):
protective figure who rewards the generous and punishes the wicked.
Some contemporary Pagans will even leave out offerings to Frau
Perchta on Epiphany Eve as a nod to the old ways,
framing it as honoring a wise winter deity rather than

(57:34):
merely placating a monster's wrath. Meanwhile, for many villagers, the
meaning of Perchten festivities now is more cultural than spiritual.
It's about keeping local heritage alive and having a bit
of winter fun. In a way, every perchtenlof parade, with

(57:58):
its booming drums and costumed fiends, is an act of
remembering that the spirit of Berchta remains despite centuries of change.
The legend of Frau Perchta and the Perchten fascinatingly weaves
history and horror. On one side. It preserves the echo

(58:22):
of a pre Christian past, a time when a bright
lady of winter was revered as a giver of prosperity
and protection. On the other it embodies the deep seated
winter fears that generations of Alpine folk lived, with long nights,

(58:43):
hard toil, and the ever looming threat of hunger or
misfortune if one's work was left undone. It's easy to
see why such a stern figure as Perchta became the
enforcer of good being behavior. To survive winter, you had

(59:03):
to be diligent and prepared. Slacker's truly risked death, if
not by a witch's knife, then by cold and starvation.
So the tail of the belly slitter, ghastly as it
is carried practical wisdom wrapped in visceral fear. Even today,

(59:28):
the story retains its grisly charm. It sends a shiver
down our spines to imagine frawl Perchta creeping through a silent,
dark house, sniffing out any signs of laziness. We can
almost feel her bony fingers checking for dust on the shelves,

(59:53):
or hear the clop of her uncanny foot as she
prowls the spinning room floor. In a world where winter
holidays have largely become soft and sweet, all jolly santas
and sugar cookies. There's something oddly refreshing, if morbid, about

(01:00:16):
an older Sharper tradition that warns behave yourself or else.
After all, what's a good fairy tale without a dose
of horror. So this January, when the twelfth night comes around,

(01:00:39):
take a bit of advice from our ancestors. Tidy your house,
finish your work, Serve up a humble meal, and maybe
set a bowl aside on the doorstep just in case.
And as you settle into bed, spare a respectful thing

(01:01:00):
thought for Frau Perchda, the bright one who turned winter witch.
She may be out there in the moonlight with her
Perchtin in tow, peeking in to ensure that all is
in order. May she find you hard working, truthful, and

(01:01:26):
ready for the new year, so she doesn't have to
reach for her knife. Sweet dreams and happy perchtin Talk.
Terrifying and True is narrated by Enrique Kuto. It's executive
produced by Rob Fields and bobble Topia dot Com and

(01:01:48):
produced by Dan Wilder with original theme music by Ray Mattis.
If you have a story you think we should cover
on Terrifying and True, send us an email at Weekly
Spooky at gmail dot com and if you want to
support us for as little as one dollar a month,
go to Weeklyspooky dot com slash join. Your support for
as little as one dollar a month keeps the show going.

(01:02:09):
And speaking of I want to say an extra special
thank you to our Patreon podcast boosters, folks who pay
a little bit more to hear their name at the
end of the show. And they are Johnny Nicks, Kate
and Lulu, Jessica Fuller, Mike Scuey, Jenny Green, Amber Hansford,
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all so much and thank you for listening. We'll see
you all right here next time on Terrifying and True

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Terrifying & True | Frau Perchta, the Christmas Witch: Alpine Folklore and Chilling Christmas Horror

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