My, What Big Teeth You Have

The Näcken

This story is dedicated to House_Sparrow on Wattpad, who gave the suggestion. <3

➤ Wordcount - 1.8k

Nøkken/Nykkjen/Näcken is a sinister male freshwater spirit from Norwegian and Swedish folklore, his first mention dating all the way back to the Viking age. He is said to dwell in dark ponds, lakes, or rivers. Nøkken is a shapeshifter but is most known to take the shape of a handsome man with long hair (Swedish), a monster of twigs and seaweed with glowing eyes (Norwegian), or a white horse.

Nøkken plays a fiddle, or in some stories a harp, and he is said to be the best musician in the world. In many stories, Nøkken uses his beautiful violin music to put people in a trance to lure them into the water and drown them. In other stories, Nøkken may play a more active role in pulling them into the depths.

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"Papa is back!" Your six-year-old niece, Eloise, announces as she comes barging into the tavern with a big smile.

She's been playing outside and has a smudge on her button nose and two dirty spots on her skirt from where she's been kneeling in the dirt, digging for worms. She pauses to pet the ginger cat asleep in the corner and skips up to you, proceeding to slingshot her body against your leg, nearly knocking you off balance. Her chin digs into your thigh as she looks up at you adoringly.

"What are we having for dinner?" She asks.

"Vegetable soup, and the bread I baked fresh this morning," you reply, giving the counter one last pass with your dishcloth to make sure it's all clean for the busy night.

"And fried skipper?" Her eyes grow wide.

"Why don't you go see if your Papa caught some?" You suggest.

You can't help but smile as she goes charging outside to give her father the same tackle-treatment. Usually, he laughs and grabs her and spins her around, but you don't hear any laughter today. You hang the dishcloth out to dry and walk outside to find them.

Eloise is gaping up at her father and although you can't see her face, you know she's never this quiet unless something is wrong. Your barrel-chested brother is soaking wet, standing with his head low and hair plastered to his face, clutching an empty net in one hand. There's no fish. Even the worst fishing days still turn out a small catch.

"Eloise, how about you go inside and clean up for supper?" You tell her.

Surprisingly she goes the first time you ask, wide-eyed as she scampers inside.

"What happened?" You ask, and then you spot what he's holding in his other hand. "Is that... A fiddle?"

"Yeah." He drops the net and rolls his shoulders.

"You didn't buy that with your fish, did you?" You ask suspiciously.

"I wouldn't do that," he huffs and starts into the little cottage beside the tavern that you share.

"It wasn't long ago now that you spent your entire day's worth of fishing on beer," you remind him, but your tone is gentle.

You both know why he drank so much. When his wife died he'd shut down, and it took the power of god and one very determined little girl to dig him out of the dark hole he'd retreated into.

"I didn't buy this," he says, setting it on the kitchen table with a thump.

"Be careful of that, will you? It looks well made," you murmur, eyeing it. "Will you tell me what happened then? And tell me why you've got a fiddle."