A rich woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool, while
all the family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at
the door, and a voice called, "Open! open!"
"Who is there?" said the woman of the house.
"I am the Witch of one Horn," was answered.
The mistress, supposing that one of her neighbours had called and
required assistance, opened the door, and a woman entered, having in
her hand a pair of wool-carders, and bearing a horn on her forehead, as
if growing there. She sat down by the fire in silence, and began to
card the wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused, and said aloud:
"Where are the women? they delay too long."
Then a second knock came to the door, and a voice called as before,
"Open! open!"
The mistress felt herself obliged to rise and open to the call, and
immediately a second witch entered, having two horns on her forehead,
and in her hand a wheel for spinning wool.
"Give me place," she said; "I am the Witch of the two Horns," and she
began to spin as quick as lightning.
And so the knocks went on, and the call was heard, and the witches
entered, until at last twelve women sat round the fire--the first with
one horn, the last with twelve horns.
And they carded the thread, and turned their spinning-wheels, and wound
and wove, all singing together an ancient rhyme, but no word did they
speak to the mistress of the house. Strange to hear, and frightful to
look upon, were these twelve women, with their horns and their wheels;
and the mistress felt near to death, and she tried to rise that she
might call for help, but she could not move, nor could she utter a word
or a cry, for the spell of the witches was upon her.
Then one of them called to her in Irish, and said, "Rise, woman, and
make us a cake."
Then the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water from the well
that she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she could find none.