The Enchanted Bonnet of Lichtervelde

The girl had teasel in her hair — quite common for children in the Lichtervelde area, where weeds grew where they pleased. The mother had brought the child to the market, and it was annoying that the teasel was in her hair. So when the market woman offered a bonnet — fine cotton work, neatly sewn — the mother bought it without much thought.

The price was reasonable, perhaps even too good. But nobody thought much about that at the time. The mother was happy the teasel would be hidden. The child was happy to have a new bonnet. The market woman was happy to have made a sale. Everyone was happy.

When the mother placed the bonnet on her daughter’s head at home, everything changed. In an instant — she didn’t even have time to cry out — the girl was no longer herself.

The child began to cry. Not merely crying, but crying and thrashing about like a cat being sprayed with water. The girl — who an hour earlier had been sweet and docile — writhed, screamed, and tried to tear off the bonnet. No, not tear off the bonnet — the bonnet seemed to grip her head like a living creature.

When the mother lifted her child to calm her, she felt something impossible. The child was heavy. Enormously heavy. The mother wondered if she was deceiving herself, or if her arms were tired. But no — the child, who yesterday had been light as a bird’s nest, now weighed thirty kilos. Perhaps more.

The father came home and saw his daughter in this state. His face went pale. ‘This is not good,’ he said with the certain voice of someone who sees that evil has entered. ‘Throw that bonnet in the fire.’

They threw the bonnet into the fire. In a normal fire, the cotton bonnet would turn red at once and be charred. But this bonnet was not normal. The bonnet lay in the flames, and the flames licked at it, but it did not burn. It did not even begin to smoke.

The mother and father stared at it in disbelief. The bonnet lay there, among the flames, untouched. Like their daughter — she too remained unchanged by all they had tried — the bonnet lay there and refused to change.

The father remembered something his mother had told him. Salt and holy water. The couple, now determined and knowing this was no ordinary teasel, gathered holy water from the church and salt from the kitchen. They threw it into the fire, over the bonnet. And then — at last — the bonnet caught fire. The flames seized it like a living animal finally driven from its hiding place. Within seconds it was gone.

As soon as the bonnet was gone, the child stopped crying. She cried no more, thrashed no more. She lay there quietly, exhausted, and fell asleep. The mother felt the weight — it had returned to normal. Light. Her girl.

But they knew this was not yet the end. The priest had to come. They sent someone to the village to fetch him. When the clergyman arrived, he could see at once from their faces that something terrible had happened.

The priest took the child into the living room. But something strange happened: he could not enter. It was as though an invisible wall held him back. For half an hour he stood on the threshold, muttering, praying. The parents stood beside him, trembling with fear and dread of what had occurred.

But eventually — perhaps because he persisted, perhaps through his faith — he was able to enter. And once inside, he knew what to do. He gave the child a medal. A medal of the Holy Mother of God. He also gave the mother a medal. After that, everything was over. Nothing like that ever happened again.