|| An Icelandic folktale ||
Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a school that taught black magic and witchcraft. Admission was granted to only few people and were taught ancient crafts while they stayed there for five to seven years.
The school itself was underground and windowless. There was no teacher, but pupils learnt from black books with fiery letters so they could read the glowing letters in the dark.
A shaggy gray hand came through the wall every day with the pupils’ meals, and when they had finished eating and drinking, it took back the plates. But one of the rules of the school was, that the owner can keep one of the students for himself. This is usually the pupil who should leave the school last every year.
And, everyone knew that the devil himself was the headmaster of the school. Every year, when the school was ending, all pupils hastily tried to finish the schoolwork so that they might not be the last to leave.
It happened once that three Icelanders went to this school, by the name of Sæmundur, Kálfur, and Hálfdán. As they all arrived at the same time, they were all expected to leave at the same time.
Sæmundur declared himself willing to be the last of them, much to the relief of the other two. On the final day of the school, he threw over himself a large overcoat, leaving the sleeves loose and the fastenings free.
A staircase led from the school to the upper world, and when Sæmundur was about to climb up, the devil grasped at him and said, “You are mine!”
But Sæmundur slipped out of his coat and ran ahead with full speed, leaving the devil the empty cloak. However, he barely made it outside in time, because the school’s heavy iron door was slammed suddenly to and wounded Sæmundur on the heels.
Then he said, “That was pretty close upon my heels,”, which words have since passed into a proverb. Thus Sæmundur managed to escape from the Black School, with his companions.
Sæmundur’s heart was hammering loudly. Earlier, when he came into the doorway, the sun shone upon him and threw his shadow onto the opposite wall.
And as the devil stretched out his hand to catch him , Sæmundur thought fast and said, “I am not the last. Do you not see who follows me?”
So the devil seized the shadow, mistaking it for a man, and Sæmundur escaped with merely a blow on his heels from the iron door.
But from that time he was always shadowless, for whatever the devil took, he never gave back again. But Sæmundur never regretted it, he became skilled in the black arts. His missing shadow was merely just a ‘shadow of the past’.
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