Hønsekødssuppe.

Hun hældte en spand vand ud ved sokkelen nær bryggersdøren, da hun var færdig med at plukke hønen, som skulle være hovedingrediens i søndagens suppe. Det var nok dagens største fejl, for næppe havde hun tømt den sidste eftersjat ud, før lynet slog ned i laden. Det kom ganske uvarslet, der havde ikke været nogen rumlen, og ingen truende skyer på himlen.

Hvad hun ikke vidste, var at lige neden under, hvor vandet ramte, boede en vættefamilie. Og var der noget vætterne ikke brød sig om, var det at få plasket vand på loftet, især når de holdt siesta og lå og småkværulerede over hvor lang eller kort tid der var til jul. Og med sådan et snavset og varmt vandfald, var det ikke muligt at slå koldt vand i blodet, så vættefar råbte truende og mørkerød i hovedet:

”Nu kan det være nok.” 

Og det var det. Det var nok til at nedkalde et slemt lyn, som straks antændte laden, for vættefars vrede var farlig for både mennesker og dyr.

Set fra en menneskelig synsvinkel, var det en ond begivenhed, men fra vætternes muldvarpeperspektiv, var hævn ganske naturligt. Forståelse og tilgivelse fandtes ikke på deres menukort. Fred gav ingen mening og blev iagttaget med vantro.

De vidste nemlig, fra overleveringer, at de skulle tørre glade og frimodige smil af de tåber, som levede i fredelig velstand, og plukke høns med dem. Alt andet var blålys og ikke til at holde ud. Og vandet var bare dråben...

Vættelys vidste man da, hvad var, selv om de var helt uegnede til at koge en sund og nærende suppe på.

Chicken soup

She poured a bucket of water out near the house's foundation beside the brewery door, when she had finished picking the chicken, which should be the main ingredient in the Sunday soup. It may have been the biggest mistake this day, for no sooner had she emptied the last drop out before lightning struck the barn. It came quite unannounced, there had been no rumblings and no threatening clouds in the sky.

What she didn’t know was that just below where the water hit the ground, lived a pixie family. And if there was something the pixies did not like, it was getting splashes of water on their ceiling, especially when they had siesta and cavelling of how long or short, time there was at Christmas. And with such a dirty and hot waterfall, it wasn’t possible to beat the cold water in the blood, so pixie father shouted threatening and dark red in the head:

"Now that's enough."

And that was it. It was enough to bring down a horribly lightning, which immediately ignited the barn, for pixie father’s anger was dangerous to both humans and animals.

From a human point of view, it was a bad event, but from the pixies mole perspective, was revenge quite natural. Understanding and forgiveness was not on their menu. Peace made ​​no sense and was observed with disbelief.

They knew, from their traditions, that they should wipe happy and candid smiles of the fools who lived in peaceful prosperity, and pluck chickens with them. Everything else was flashing lights and not to stick out.

But the light from belemnites they could relate positive to, although they were quite unfit to cook a healthy and nutritious soup on.