Worried souls

This is the story of the restless souls. Once upon a time there was a valiant miller blond as wheat, good as bread, living alone in his mill and who heard little of this world but the lapping of water: at least he enjoyed great independence. . When the day was over, he took his frugal meal and went up to his room, a poor room cluttered with sacks of flour and to which a simple wooden ladder led.

Worried souls

Worried souls

He had just gone to bed one evening when the sudden noise of a grinding wheel set in motion reminded him of his first sleep: he fell to his bed, holding his breath and noticed that the wheel of the mill was indeed turning as in broad daylight.

That was not all: a steady sound of footsteps, deadened by the thin layer of flour spread on the ground, struck his ear; someone would come up and enter the apartment, then all the noise would stop…. Brrr! The trembling miller hid his head under the sheets. But the same footsteps sounded again and the unknown visitor descended.

The miller took heart; to get up, to rummage in every corner, to scrutinize every refuge was the affair of a moment; but all searches were in vain… The following night, before going to bed, the miller barricaded all the doors, securely fastened around the millstone and made sure that there was no one at home. But at midnight the tower began to move, as if under the impulse of a very strong force, and the sound of footsteps again broke the silence of the night.

Slowly but heavily the footsteps approached the miller, in the bedroom, close to his bed. With a lump in his throat, not daring to breathe, the poor boy snuggled up against the wall and only regained his confidence when the steps were lost on the stairs.

The same thing happened three, four, five times until finally the brave miller resolved to clear the matter up: he steeled himself and, one night, as soon as the footsteps were heard, he lit the lanterns and jumped out of bed: a gust of wind extinguished the light and plunged the room into darkness, then the miller heard a deep sigh which froze him with fear and the footsteps moved away. Our man turned as white as flour and couldn't sleep a wink until the cockcrow.

It was sunrise time and he went down to the mill, his mind haunted by ghosts, wary of his shadow and his own footsteps. It was necessary, however, to attempt a second test; when night came, he lit an airtight and closed lantern, and, as soon as he heard a noise, rushed into the doorway: a white bird flew across the room and immediately disappeared.

The stunned miller went to tell the details of his adventure to the village priest, who recommended that he recite a pater noster, when he heard a noise, and to question the soul that was disturbing his sleep. And in fact the miller heeded this recommendation and, as soon as he heard the sound of footsteps, exclaimed:

— “Anima de Deu, in good or bad, digas que vol. (Soul of God, for good or for bad, tell me what you want.) He then heard a voice saying sadly:

“I am your father who has no rest because of the debts I contracted during my lifetime. Pay them and have a mass said for the salvation and repose of my soul. »

And the Soul disappeared. The miller carried out this order and never, ever, did he hear the noise of the millstone, nor the footsteps, nor the sighs that frightened him.