The Enchanted Farm of Ypres

Along the road from Elverdinge to Vlamertinge stood a large farm, much larger than any other in the region. But this house was cursed. Every animal that came there fell ill. Cattle succumbed to plague, sheep to cholera, pigs to murrain. No veterinarian could help, no priest could exorcise it, no action brought relief.

Not far away stood a smaller farm owned by the same landlord. There worked a good farmer — a man of great wisdom and greater heart. His animals thrived remarkably. His fields gave abundance. His name was known from Ypres to Vlamertinge.

Eventually, the landlord could bear it no longer. This great farm with its fertile lands and solid walls had become worthless. Even his debts exceeded his income. He sought out the good farmer and made him a proposal.

“You are a man of strong hand and sharp mind,” said the landlord. “Would you take this farm for three years, without paying me rent? You need not pay me anything. Everything you earn here is yours.”

The farmer hesitated for a long time. He knew the name of this place. But finally he said “yes.”

The farmer began work immediately. Every corner of the stalls was swept, every wall washed, every crack disinfected. He used vinegar, salt, and herbs he knew from his grandmother. But he knew this was not enough.

One night he visited an old wise woman who lived in a ruined cottage outside Vlamertinge. She was famous for her knowledge of alchemy and secret arts. When he told her his problem, she said:

“These are not illnesses that grow naturally, farmer. This is a curse born of human hatred, cast through witchcraft. You must drive out this evil with another kind of magic.”

She gave him an earthenware dish and these ingredients: horse horn, ox horn, and sulfur. “Mix these together,” she said, “and place them in your dish. Pour petroleum over them and light a wick. Let it burn, and make sure all windows and doors are closed. Let the smoke penetrate everywhere.”

The farmer did exactly as told. That night he prepared the mixture, lit the wick, and sealed every opening. The smoke filled the stalls, sharp and burning, seeping into every crack. It smelled of fire and subterranean things.

When dawn came, the farmer opened all doors and windows. The stalls were clean, purified, freed from their darkness. That day he brought in new livestock. And miraculously — the animals became healthy. No disease, no plague, no misery.

Day after day, week after week, year after year the farm flourished under his care. The cattle grew fat and strong. The milk was the finest in the whole region. The pigs became large and healthy. The sheep bore thick fleeces.

After merely two years, the farmer had earned more than many people earn in a lifetime. The landlord, who had weathered poverty and debt in that time, witnessed this improbable prosperity. He offered the farmer the farm — forever — without any payment.

The farmer accepted the offer. What had once been cursed was now blessed. The darkness that had hung eternal was dispelled. And the man courageous enough to fight magic with ancient wisdom lived there thereafter in abundance and honor.

Today still this farm — or what remains of it — stands along the road from Elverdinge to Vlamertinge. Some say that on certain nights, when the moon is full, you can still smell the scent of the cleansing ritual on the wind.