American Tolkien Society

The Lights in the Window

A Folktale Gathered by Oxymore Took

Daniel Smith

                 There was a ruined house in the Anduin Valley near to the shadow of Mirkwood forest. It was said that an old man once lived there. He had been a famed beekeeper in days gone by. But as he aged he grew careless in his management of his little friends. One day they were gone.

                Had they left due to neglect?

                Many folks say, “No.”

                It was something in the dark that drove the little bees away. Something that came in the dark of night. Something filled with darkness itself.

                The man was, as is said by all, stubborn. He refused to leave his home even after his bees abandoned him. He got more bees. They left as well – and sooner rather than later.

                But as he remained and grew old, he also grew particular. He did not go to visit the other farmers or herders of the Valley anymore. He stayed put. He kept to himself and only asked that he monthly be brought candles to keep the night bright for him.

                One day a young man was set to drop off a box of candles at the tattered home there under the reaching branches of the forest. The young man was an orphan that tried as best he might to be a candlestick maker. He heard the old man grumbling to himself. “Beastly bugs, they think they can get the better of me! Well, I… hey there lad! Just you drop off that box of candles and be on your way!” shouted the grim fellow at the young man when he spotted him approaching.

                The young man wondered if the old beekeeper was set to start up with his hives once more. He knew the old man was only up and about at night so he went to spy on him one evening after sunset. He was just curious. His friends said such curiosity would get the better of him in the end!

                Sure enough, once darkness fell, the old man lit candles in all the windows of his little crumbling house. Each window twinkled with light. But the old man never came outside. The lad could not see any new hives set up to receive bees. All was quiet.

                “Perhaps he is not yet ready. I will come back on the morrow,” thought the young man.

                So back he came the next night. Again, nothing but the lights.

                He told his tale to a friend in the village. “Ah, you should not be pestering with the old man!” said the other fellow. “He lives right on to Mirkwood, so he must be cracked in the head. Leave him be!”

                But the lad could not. He went back another night. But this time the crumbly old house was dark. That put a bit of a fright in the young man. It did not help when he thought he heard soft whispering on the wind. Off he ran.

                “Ha!” laughed the lad’s friend in the village when he told him the tale. “Whisperin’ in the wind! The old man must just have run out of candles! He lives right on to Mirkwood, he IS cracked in the head. Leave him be!”







                 But the lad could not. He had to know if the old man was well. What if he had taken a fall? He decided to return yet again.

                Once more, the house was dark. The lad had a lantern but he did not light it. He crept through the yard and peered into one window. He could not see anything. Should he knock upon the door? He was being foolish. If he was to visit the man, he should do it in the daytime, like a decent person would. Or, he should wait until the next month when he was due to bring more candles. The old man just received his box, after all, and so could not be out. He was choosing not to light them.

                So it was that the lad turned to walk away, back to the village.

                But he turned, one last time, to look at the house. He sighed and decided to light his own candle in his lantern for the walk home. When he did so it appeared that candles lit up in every window of the old man’s house.

                How could that be?

                The lad started to walk back to the house, ready to knock on the door.

                That was when he heard the whispering again…

                The front door of the beekeeper’s house opened just ever so slightly… just a crack… the lad marched on up as if to knock… but he turned sharply to the side of the house and held his lantern up to the nearest window.

                There were no candles burning behind the glass. There were only the eyes of countless giant spiders reflecting the light of his own lantern back at him from within! The eyes of the giant spiders of Mirkwood! Dozens of eyes reflected the candle light back in a sickly yellow glare. The front door of the house popped open and out sprung a giant spider, hoping to seize him!

                The lad screamed and ran! The spiders pursued him but would not get too close while he held his lantern aloft. He made it safely to the village and told everyone what had happened. The people of the village would not wait until the day – they gathered torches and farm tools and marched on the old man’s house. They drove out the spiders – drove them back into Mirkwood’s dark shadow. They saved the old man, who they found wrapped in webs ready for eating.

                Oh, the old man was so happy! It was the first joy he had known in years. Back to the village he moved, to stay with the orphaned lad that had saved him. And all his secrets of beekeeping he taught the lad, for he did get new hives once he had learned his lesson to stay away from the forest. He taught the young man all about using beeswax for candles instead of tallow and the lad became wealthy as his business thrived. Eventually he married. The lad’s bride always treated the old man as if he were her father-in-law and loved him dearly. Everyone was delighted, except for the pesky spiders of Mirkwood who had been foiled, yet again, in their quest to drive Men from the Anduin Valley.

posted 10-23-2018