The Bwystfel
When I was a child, I lived in Radnorshire, one of seven children and the youngest of six girls. As my parents had six other girls and an infant boy to take care of, they left me to myself, and I ran about like a wild thing. Not that they didn’t love me, but they had other things to do.
I was about five when I began to see the Bwystfel. It roamed about the farm, slipping in the shadows, and the only way to see it was to look for the shapes that were darker than the spaces between stars. Its mad eyes were like coal sparks, it laughed like a goat in pain, and it was always angry. I watched it from a distance: one spring, I saw it kill a nest of sparrows – closing its hands about the nest until the little naked birds smothered on its flesh — one summer, it poisoned the sheep, biting the ewes’ legs until rot and infection ate into their flesh that no about of doctoring could fix. Later, it skulked into the shed and sliced the handyman’s chest open, then danced his blood up the walls and over the rafters. My parents said it was an accident, but knew better. “The Bwystfel did it,” I told my father, and he boxed my ears for being a liar. No one believed me at all. . . except the Bwystfel itself.
It grew angrier. At night, it crept into my room, giggling and ripping the blankets away and pinching me. I shared a bed with two of my sisters – we didn’t all have separate rooms like you do – and when the Bwystfel came, we shivered together, too afraid to move until morning. We were very little girls, and nobody trusted us with a candle, so we had no way to drive the thing away. It tormented us in whispers, calling us names and telling us we were bad children, because our prayers that it would leave us be weren’t answered. My sisters refused to speak a word of it, and they wore the Bwystfel-inflicted bruises like jewellery – saying they’d fallen over or been bitten by the cat.
I decided I would have to find the Bwystfel myself and scare it away. I took the statuette of Florence Nightingale that my mother gave us to hold when we were sick and a stone with a hole in it, both for luck. As it turned out, I would need the luck.
I walked for ages, got lost, and eventually stumbled into a small wooded copse where I had never been before. Under the trees it was cold air, and pine needles and dried leaves lay thick upon the patchy grass. I clutch Florence. . . and then I saw the bones.
Bleached and ancient, they lay scattered in a circle: small bones, large bones, bones half buried in the loam, bones with scraps of dried flesh still clinging to them. A sheep skeleton hung suspended in the tangle of a blackberry bush, and canes had grown through the eye sockets of birds. I started to cry – I knew I’d found the den of the Bwystfel.
The Bwystfel appeared from nowhere, crouched down on the tawny grass like a cat about to pounce. The ivory of the bones jutted up around it like little fingers, clawing, trying to drag it down. “You’d better run, small girl,” the Bwystfel hissed. “Better run, or your brother-boy will break his bones, snap-snap.” It vanished, only to appear again, behind me. Terrified, I flung my lucky stone at it; the stone passed right through its head, and the ghoul screamed.
I’d seen enough. I bolted, dropping Florence, rushing headlong towards where I thought the nearest road should be. Once there, I kept going, my skirt ripped to ribbons by thorns and my legs stung with nettles, until, turning a corner, I ran smack into my grandfather. He was a big man, my grandfather, and he swung me off my feet and held me as I sobbed.
“What’s wrong, darling?” he asked, when I calmed some. I told him of the Bwystfel and what it had said, and instead of being angry, as my father had been, he listened. His brow furrowed. “Are you feeling brave, darling? Do you think you could be brave for me?” When I nodded, he had me show him were I’d gone – then he sat me on a bank and gave me his best silver snuff box to hold. “I’m going after the Bwystfel,” he told her. “You stay here in the sunshine and I’ll be back soon. If any bad bwcy comes, you hit it with that.”
So I waited, shaking, afraid for my granddaddy and afraid of the Bwystfel and afraid of what Mother would do if I lost Florence. Finally, back Grandad came; flushed, and bleeding from a hundred cuts on his hands. He looked angry, more angry then I’d ever seen him, for he was the mildest of men. “The Bwystfel-beast is dead again,” he told me, “and under the soil where it belongs.” He spat upon the earth and ground the moisture in with his boot heel.
“What do you mean, dead again?” I asked.
Grandad was quiet for a time, then he said. “The Bwystfel was a damned one who hurt small things because he loved pain. When I was a boy, Old Thomas killed him, but Young Thomas found where he lay and let him out. I’ll sort him out for good soon and he won’t bother you any more.” When he arrived at my father’s house, he made excuses for my torn dress and tear-stained face, saying I’d been attacked by a dog, and Florence had been broken as I’d tried to escape.
And then, without another word, he went to the shed and fetched the dead handyman’s bottle of whiskey and gun powder and a box of matches.
I never went back, but I heard of a fire that burned bone den trees to the ground.
–
I’m told by the submitter that this is from one of the Something Awful ghost story threads, thus it’s supposedly a true story. If anyone knows any more information about the story or the poster’s name, please comment and let us know!
Horribly written, but somehow still a decent story.
first!
well written. not very creepy.
Not bat, actually. The story line kept my attention and was pretty interesting. The only thing I didn’t really enjoy was the end. They got rid of it to easily. I thought it would have put up more of a fight than that. But no matter, still not a bad story. But, then, no one has done this yet, and me being me, I have to say it.:
THEN WHO WAS SNAP-SNAP?
I actually enjoyed the story..I love folk stories..and it held my attention. And if it is a true story…..nom nom……
I enjoyed the story, although countless errors kept knocking me out of it. Also, just one question.
“…one of SEVEN CHILDREN and the youngest of six girls. As my parents had SIX OTHER girls AND an infant boy to take care of…”
Were there 7 kids or 8?
Not too bad; of course, if she really was one of seven children, and the youngest of six girls, how could her parents have six other girls and a baby boy to look after, unless the story is just that–a story?
wat
Can’t even fucking pronounce that, dolt.
Shittypasta is shitty.
What the fuck Sara?
wat
snap snap wasnt a person. he was saying it as to do it fast. kinda like chop chop.
ok name of the monster? really? looks like someone let a baby hit the keys. also i hate it wen ppl say typo but in this story you just screwed up words altogether like “no about of doctoring could fix” not that bad of a story though justt work a bit on word usage
also i gotta ask wats “bad bwcy”?
Oh man, the writing of that story was awful. By far the most interesting part was the grandfather’s relation of the backstory, but it didn’t go into enough detail.
I hesitate to say it, but I think I want more…?
I read it in the original format and I know the horrible writing is because the guy who took the story down got it from his grandmother, and some of the things weren’t always clear. I think it’s a good story in an evil fairy tale sort of way, although I do want to fix up the typos.
Great story. hard to understand in places makes you have to give it a second or third look to get what the author means but other than that good stuff.
Too realistic and good of a read to be creepy.
enjoyed this
So basically there was this sadistic Welsh zombie thing that plagued the farm, then Grandpa came along and defeated the monster…
Cool beans, although not creepy enough…
Yeah a few mispells and “he told her” 1st to third person so that detracted from the pretty good story.
I concur with Dylan. A. Incidentally, how do you pronounce whatever the beast-thing’s name was?
It’s okay. Saw a bit of 3rd person by accident, but it was ok.
Kinda boring, but interesting.
I’ve certainly never heard of a Bwystfel from any of my Weslh relatives, and they tend to hoard weird celtic stories. It sounds like a cross between a Brownie, a Poltergeist and a Nursery Bogie (creature made upto scare errant children).
I’m guessing the author just made it up, but it stronlgy resembles traditional Welsh hearth side tales.
“…one of seven children and the youngest of six girls. As my parents had six other girls and an infant boy to take care of, they left me to myself…” <— Six girls, an infant boy, and a protagonist. Does that not make eight?
This story might’ve been decent if it wasn’t written by a moron.
“When I nodded, he had me show him were I’d gone – then he sat me on a bank and gave me his best silver snuff box to hold. “I’m going after the Bwystfel,” he told her.” <— He told her? When did this change from first person?
Too many mistakes to point out, but that one bothered me the most. Either way, if this is a true story, cool. Otherwise, fail.
Awful writing is awful.
I agree with the first guy. Absolutely terribly written, to the point that I’m convinced that English isn’t the writer’s primary language, in which case it’s forgivable. Also forgivable because the story is just plain kickass. The end really left me guessing as well.
“…calling us names and telling us we were bad children”
so they won’t get any gifts from Santa!
sorry, i didn’t like this one, ending is not satisfying. but it could be a good plot for an average horror movie.
i pictured the granfather like atticus from to kill a mocking bird, a bad ass with a fist full of whiskey and another fist full of lead.
the writing was a bit off and but it was still an awesome story the detail help add to the creepy effect.
“Brother-boy”? “Snap-snap”? What the fuck is this thing, a skaven?
@Gjnhi: Hyuk hyuk. Me being me as well, I absolutely have to, nay, am required, to say it: THEN WHO WAS STUPID, UNFUNNY, RETARDED, TIRED, OVERUSED MEME?
I loved this story, man. It’s obviously not everyone’s cup of tea, I guess, but very creepy.
This is one of my favorites. I read it maybe about a year ago. Good choice, Phone. :3
Am I the only one that read this to the tune of I will survive?
@ iggy. one of 7,and the youngest of 6 girls is correct.
for example
Boy=b girl =G and main character = M would put her
BMGGGGG…as she is youngest of 6,she is the youngest girl,leaving five older then her,and a younger brother,comprende?
What a load the way you described the monster/ghost was a very infant way “The only way to see him is to look for shapes that are darker that the gaps between stars”. You might of well put “His skin was blacker than night itself” just boring it wasn”t going to scare anyone, also it harms but picks on small children so no worries for people who actually think this is real!
Not well written, but not too bad. Too many little things were off or wrong to get lost in the story though.
Needs more back story… grandpa explaining it didnt make things very clear. I know he was talking to a little girl, but still…
I imagined the grandfather as a Clint Eastwood kind of fellow. Reason why the story kicked ass.
It had its mistakes, but I disagree strongly with the lot that claimed it was “horribly written”. I must also oppose those who disliked the author’s descriptions. Phrases such as “it laughed like a goat in pain” and “danced his blood up the walls and over the rafters” gave the story an incredibly dark glamour.
While it didn’t completely creep me out, this pasta catered to my imagination and unnerved me. I commend it.
I thought it was a nice story. ^^
Now will someone let me out already?! >:[
Why the hell is Lugi on the page?..
Why is it snowing Luigi?
The writing is certainly juvenile and flawed in some spots, but everyone makes mistakes that can be overlooked until people give them feedback. However, it WAS entertaining with its folkish charms. The grandfather was definitely the character that made the pasta for me.
Weegee
Who cares what you have to say anymore VH? You lost all your credibility with that fuckin’ lame “Debut” story. Ah dun’ cur.
Hey now, whether we are writers/readers/both/neither, we are all on a path of learning and gaining experience. Insight from others will not always be useful, but it will always be given… And another thing… Speak for your fucking selves, fuckfaces. >:-/
^^^^^^
Gayest thing ah eva’ read
Best post here in a while. I like the folktale feeling. Not that well written, but the story itself was great.
And LOL at the dumbasses who don’t know Welsh when they see it.
Bad writing, ok story…
This is what happens when you find PILLS HERE
but then who was bwcy
You’re entitled to your opinion, but with all due respect, you couldn’t write to save your life, Pink Man. If you could, you wouldn’t be hiding under the guise and pseudonym of a gay man. Or, you really could be gay, but whether you’re fond of chugging sperm or not, it won’t make you a crafter of fiction.
THEN WHO WAS BWYSTFEL?
No, wait…
THEN WHO WAS BAD BWCY?
“Can’t even fucking pronounce that, dolt.”
Bwist-fel
it’s easy to pronounce. Decent story also
I’m finding some inconsistencies– he sure manages to pop up a lot of places if he’s stuck in the shadows, and how can he only be found by looking in shadows if his eyes are glowing? The descriptions are great, but kind of contradicting.
I like the phrase “danced the blood up the walls.” Other than that, fairly unremarkable.
Umm, I’m not entirely sure how this logic is supposed to work. Does YOUR pseudonym suddenly grant magical writing powers. Will you soon be supplanting William Faulkner or Ernest Hemingway because of your pen-name? They may not be who you seek to emulate, but you get my point.
P.S. You forgot to mention how much pot you smoke in your first comment
What the fuck is up with everyone saying the writing sucks? What exactly is wrong with it? The style is very nice and held my attention and the story itself was pretty good…not everyone has a team of editors to check their every mistake to please you grammar nazi faggots
Yeah, I do. A shitload. What of it?
“You’d better run, small girl, better run, or your brother-boy will break his bones, snap-snap.”
Something about that sentence is chilling to me, in a good way.
I really like this story. I like that part about only being able to see the Bwystfel in the shadows by it’s eyes being blacker than the spaces between the stars.
@ pastamuncher
You misunderstood my comment. My problem wasn’t with that statement at all. It was with “6 OTHER girls” (6) and “AND an infant boy” (7). Adding the narrator to this makes 8. Comprende?
Sigh, the Bwystfel shoulda killed the girls to actually give him about a hint of creepyness, and a teaspoon of sauce to this pasta. He did not though, so it was bland. They should not have been able to kill it so quickly. Oh, and for everyone that asked “who was snap snap snap?” I must sigh when I answer this because you should know already but since you don’t, sighs, SNAP SNAP SNAP IS YOU!!!! XD
Wow, I love how everyone’s BAWWWWing over how they can’t pronounce the name and saying it looks like gibberish. It just looks like regular old Welsh to me. Way to go.
I’m going after the Bwystfel,” he told her. “You stay here in the sunshine and I’ll be back soon. If any bad bwcy comes, you hit it with that.”
Whut?
The protagonists is ONE of the six girls. She has five older sisters, one brother, and herself. Seven children. Jesus.
Sounded like it was translated from Swedish or German.
I know it wasn’t but still.
actually, i didn’t find this so terrible to read. sure, tere were a few low points, and the change from first to third person was a punch in the eye, but this story still has some potential, with a bit of grammar check.
Go La Muerta Blanca, sighs dreamily that story brings back soooo many memories.
For the people complaining about the name: It’s Welsh motherfuckers, and pretty tame Welsh at that.
This is probably one of my favorite ghost storied ever posted to Something Awful, only bested by R’ying, The Secret Room, The Blood Mirror and that one about the kid who encountered aliens twice.
I disagree with all of you;it’s flawed, certainly, but it’s one of the more interesting posts on here. The quaint, obtuse language leaves room for the imagination, and simultaneously gives the story a ring of truth. You are never told what this thing looks like, and yet you know.
@Ashu: Either he was being cute to the girl, or it was a typo.
I loved this story, I kinda wish it was a bit longer because it felt like so much more detail could be given, but perhaps a sequel/prequel explaining the grandfather’s time would be nice to see.
I greatly enjoyed the old Grandpa kicking Bwystfels ass with his bear (haha…pun) hands
To those saying, “It’s just Welsh,” consider the fact that many of us have NEVER READ WELSH IN OUR FUCKING LIVES.
The writing was bland, overall, and looked like it was written by someone with English as a second language, or by a younger person.
“no about…” should have been “no amount…”
Not creepy, but a good story.
I enjoyed it. The descriptions of the Bwystfel’s den were pretty creepy
BUT THEN WHO WAS DRESS
THEN WHO WAS SISTERS?
Good read, I love when the stories have a triumphant ending.
Are you guys stupid? The grandfather was the monster, he killed himself out of guilt for what he’d done to his grandchildren and the handyman by burning himself.
What do you mean, horribly written? I liked it. The end fizzled out a little, but it was good.
I thought it was an interesting story. It wasn’t perfectly written, but the content and realism of it all was rather gripping, and kept my attention.
good story sounds like a bedtime story id tell any future kids and snap snap didnt mean chop chop he ment snap snap like the sound of bones breaking
… I just… Couldn’t read this.
I mean, if you’re going to use another language to name your monster, at least spell it right… I assume you meant ‘Bwystfyl’, ‘Monster’. ‘Bwystfel’ translates more accurately as ‘Like, by’ and just sounds rediculous.
Nightmare on Elm Street did it better.
THEN WHO WAS BROTHER BOY?
This was pretty good
It wasn’t really creepy, but I can see that it was probably meant for younger children, so I can understand that.
It did have a few confusing parts and grammar problems ‘n such, but still altogether a good concept–although it could be better. I’d give it a 6/10.
Oh, and as I see it, Bwystfel is pronounced Bw-ist-fell, but I’m not always best when it comes to pronunciation estimates.
Awh my God.
I’m currently writing a story, and, my main character goes to the human realm, and she DOES THIS. D:
*rambleramble*
On another note, wtf is a bwcy? I can say Bwystfel alright, but bwcy sounds like someone trying to hiss Spanish in a French accent :c
sounds like wampus’ work
not bad the bwsytfel seemed to switch between either malevolence and mischievous tho
It got gay when the grandfather became a hero.
Bwystfel, like wistful with a b in front?
Bwcy, like… pussy with a “b”?
._.”
Somebody draw this thing!
For some reason, I thought the thing looked like Zeke’s spirit from Shaman King. I dunno…
I love love love this story, I wish Wampus Cat anf Often was up here because it’s an amazing story as well. I read it in my head with a slight southern accent always. I don’t understand why people are saying the juvenille tone is bad…it’s being told by a child.
to violent harvest- you are such a prick. the kind of person i would punch in the dick/ovaries if i were to come across you. good luck.
Why has no one that’s said they’ve read this on SA forums posted a link?
And the story was good, not everything has to have dramatic fight. And the grampa only sealed Bwistfel, he didn’t kill it.
Once again, like everyone else
BUT WHO WAS BWCY?
Hey guys,
The Welsh “w” is pronounced like “oo”. Therefore:
Bwystfel = Booystfel
Bwcy = Boocy
there weren\’t 8 kids;
she was the YOUNGEST of the 6 girls, herself included, and then her little brother made 7.
http://dictionary.babylon.com/bwystfil/
Bwystfil and Bwystfel are pretty clearly different phonetic English spellings of the same Welsh word, and Radnorshire is a province of Wales. So we know the name wasn’t just Welsh-sounding gibberish that someone made up to give it a folktale flavor to their pasta. That said, in Welsh it just means “a wild beast,” and someone could have looked that up in about 10 seconds on Google whether they were from Wales or not.
Bwystfel.
Probably german.
I’d bet it’s pronounced: Buh-why-stuh-fell. B why stfell bwystfel. How hard is that? Seriously.
i believe it is pronounced “bwist fell”
I enjoyed the story, Its somthing that would actualy give me the heebey jeebey’s if I lived on an a farm, or somthing out in the woods.
There are seven children. There are six girls and a boy, and the main character is one of the six girls. She has five older sisters and a little brother…idiots
None of you fucking know how to pronounce this. It’s Welsh. Y in Welsh sounds like U. A single F is pronounced as a V is in English. W can be either used as a U or utilised in the same way as it is in English, but seeing as we have a Y straight after it I think it only makes sense to be pronounced as a W. Therefore we can deduce that Bwystfel is pronounced “Bwustvel”.
Not scary, but it reminds me of old stories about bad faeries that used to make trouble on farms. I wish there was more back story about what the Bwystfel’s origins are.
good story. great imagery. all around amazing tale.
Hm…not too bad. I lost interest mid-way, but got back into it^^ Pretty well written, a few words could be fixed but other than that, it left me with an odd feeling. Don’t get that often unless it’s a good story.
I\’m sorry, but that was the worst ending sentence I\’ve ever read here. Until that, it was about 5/10.
The concept was very good however, there were some issues with the writing and the ending left me unsatisfied and more than a bit confused. So while it has the potential to be a delicious pasta it is a bit too al dente for me.
My Welsh is pretty (extremely) rusty, but I’d say it would be close to B-oy-ste-fell, though this is pretty haphazard and I’m more or less basing the “Bwy” part on “pwy,” the Welsh for who – not sure if it would stay consistent between words.
good pasta