{"id":24444,"date":"2025-10-10T11:17:31","date_gmt":"2025-10-10T15:17:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=24444"},"modified":"2025-10-10T11:17:33","modified_gmt":"2025-10-10T15:17:33","slug":"robert-louis-stevenson-thrawn-janet","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/robert-louis-stevenson-thrawn-janet\/24444\/","title":{"rendered":"Robert Louis Stevenson: Thrawn Janet"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis:<\/strong> “Thrawn Janet”<\/em> is a short story by Robert Louis Stevenson, first published in October 1881 in The Cornhill Magazine<\/em>. A young minister, Reverend Soulis, arrives in the Scottish village of Balweary to take charge of the parish. Ignoring the warnings of the locals, he hires Janet M\u2019Clour as his housekeeper\u2014a woman of ill repute, accused of witchcraft. After a tense confrontation with the village women, Janet publicly swears to renounce the devil. From that moment on, something disturbing begins to manifest around her, and the manse becomes shrouded in an atmosphere of growing fear and mystery.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
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\"Robert<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Thrawn Janet<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Robert Louis Stevenson
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister of the moorland parish of Balweary, in the vale of Dule.  A severe, bleak-faced old man, dreadful to his hearers, he dwelt in the last years of his life, without relative or servant or any human company, in the small and lonely manse under the Hanging Shaw.  In spite of the iron composure of his features, his eye was wild, scared, and uncertain; and when he dwelt, in private admonitions, on the future of the impenitent, it seemed as if his eye pierced through the storms of time to the terrors of eternity.  Many young persons, coming to prepare themselves against the season of the Holy Communion, were dreadfully affected by his talk.  He had a sermon on lst Peter, v. and 8th, \u2018The devil as a roaring lion,\u2019 on the Sunday after every seventeenth of August, and he was accustomed to surpass himself upon that text both by the appalling nature of the matter and the terror of his bearing in the pulpit.  The children were frightened into fits, and the old looked more than usually oracular, and were, all that day, full of those hints that Hamlet deprecated.  The manse itself, where it stood by the water of Dule among some thick trees, with the Shaw overhanging it on the one side, and on the other many cold, moorish hilltops rising towards the sky, had begun, at a very early period of Mr. Soulis\u2019s ministry, to be avoided in the dusk hours by all who valued themselves upon their prudence; and guidmen sitting at the clachan alehouse shook their heads together at the thought of passing late by that uncanny neighbourhood.  There was one spot, to be more particular, which was regarded with especial awe.  The manse stood between the high road and the water of Dule, with a gable to each; its back was towards the kirk-town of Balweary, nearly half a mile away; in front of it, a bare garden, hedged with thorn, occupied the land between the river and the road.  The house was two stories high, with two large rooms on each.  It opened not directly on the garden, but on a causewayed path, or passage, giving on the road on the one hand, and closed on the other by the tall willows and elders that bordered on the stream.  And it was this strip of causeway that enjoyed among the young parishioners of Balweary so infamous a reputation.  The minister walked there often after dark, sometimes groaning aloud in the instancy of his unspoken prayers; and when he was from home, and the manse door was locked, the more daring schoolboys ventured, with beating hearts, to \u2018follow my leader\u2019 across that legendary spot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This atmosphere of terror, surrounding, as it did, a man of God of spotless character and orthodoxy, was a common cause of wonder and subject of inquiry among the few strangers who were led by chance or business into that unknown, outlying country.  But many even of the people of the parish were ignorant of the strange events which had marked the first year of Mr. Soulis\u2019s ministrations; and among those who were better informed, some were naturally reticent, and others shy of that particular topic.  Now and again, only, one of the older folk would warm into courage over his third tumbler, and recount the cause of the minister\u2019s strange looks and solitary life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * * * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fifty years syne, when Mr. Soulis cam first into Ba\u2019weary, he was still a young man \u2014 a callant, the folk said \u2014 fu\u2019 o\u2019 book learnin\u2019 and grand at the exposition, but, as was natural in sae young a man, wi\u2019 nae leevin\u2019 experience in religion.  The younger sort were greatly taken wi\u2019 his gifts and his gab; but auld, concerned, serious men and women were moved even to prayer for the young man, whom they took to be a self-deceiver, and the parish that was like to be sae ill-supplied.  It was before the days o\u2019 the moderates \u2014 weary fa\u2019 them; but ill things are like guid \u2014 they baith come bit by bit, a pickle at a time; and there were folk even then that said the Lord had left the college professors to their ain devices, an\u2019 the lads that went to study wi\u2019 them wad hae done mair and better sittin\u2019 in a peat-bog, like their forbears of the persecution, wi\u2019 a Bible under their oxter and a speerit o\u2019 prayer in their heart.  There was nae doubt, onyway, but that Mr. Soulis had been ower lang at the college.  He was careful and troubled for mony things besides the ae thing needful.  He had a feck o\u2019 books wi\u2019 him \u2014 mair than had ever been seen before in a\u2019 that presbytery; and a sair wark the carrier had wi\u2019 them, for they were a\u2019 like to have smoored in the Deil\u2019s Hag between this and Kilmackerlie.  They were books o\u2019 divinity, to be sure, or so they ca\u2019d them; but the serious were o\u2019 opinion there was little service for sae mony, when the hail o\u2019 God\u2019s Word would gang in the neuk of a plaid.  Then he wad sit half the day and half the nicht forbye, which was scant decent \u2014 writin\u2019, nae less; and first, they were feared he wad read his sermons; and syne it proved he was writin\u2019 a book himsel\u2019, which was surely no fittin\u2019 for ane of his years an\u2019 sma\u2019 experience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Onyway it behoved him to get an auld, decent wife to keep the manse for him an\u2019 see to his bit denners; and he was recommended to an auld limmer \u2014 Janet M\u2019Clour, they ca\u2019d her \u2014 and sae far left to himsel\u2019 as to be ower persuaded.  There was mony advised him to the contrar, for Janet was mair than suspeckit by the best folk in Ba\u2019weary.  Lang or that, she had had a wean to a dragoon; she hadnae come forrit  for maybe thretty year; and bairns had seen her mumblin\u2019 to hersel\u2019 up on Key\u2019s Loan in the gloamin\u2019, whilk was an unco time an\u2019 place for a God-fearin\u2019 woman.  Howsoever, it was the laird himsel\u2019 that had first tauld the minister o\u2019 Janet; and in thae days he wad have gane a far gate to pleesure the laird.  When folk tauld him that Janet was sib to the deil, it was a\u2019 superstition by his way of it; an\u2019 when they cast up the Bible to him an\u2019 the witch of Endor, he wad threep it doun their thrapples that thir days were a\u2019 gane by, and the deil was mercifully restrained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Weel, when it got about the clachan that Janet M\u2019Clour was to be servant at the manse, the folk were fair mad wi\u2019 her an\u2019 him thegether; and some o\u2019 the guidwives had nae better to dae than get round her door cheeks and chairge her wi\u2019 a\u2019 that was ken\u2019t again her, frae the sodger\u2019s bairn to John Tamson\u2019s twa kye.  She was nae great speaker; folk usually let her gang her ain gate, an\u2019 she let them gang theirs, wi\u2019, neither Fair-guid-een nor Fair-guid-day; but when she buckled to, she had a tongue to deave the miller.  Up she got, an\u2019 there wasnae an auld story in Ba\u2019weary but she gart somebody lowp for it that day; they couldnae say ae thing but she could say twa to it; till, at the hinder end, the guidwives up and claught haud of her, and clawed the coats aff her back, and pu\u2019d her doun the clachan to the water o\u2019 Dule, to see if she were a witch or no, soum or droun.  The carline skirled till ye could hear her at the Hangin\u2019 Shaw, and she focht like ten; there was mony a guidwife bure the mark of her neist day an\u2019 mony a lang day after; and just in the hettest o\u2019 the collieshangie, wha suld come up (for his sins) but the new minister.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Women,\u2019 said he (and he had a grand voice), \u2018I charge you in the Lord\u2019s name to let her go.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Janet ran to him \u2014 she was fair wud wi\u2019 terror \u2014 an\u2019 clang to him, an\u2019 prayed him, for Christ\u2019s sake, save her frae the cummers; an\u2019 they, for their pairt, tauld him a\u2019 that was ken\u2019t, and maybe mair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Woman,\u2019 says he to Janet, \u2018is this true?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018As the Lord sees me,\u2019 says she, \u2018as the Lord made me, no a word o\u2019t.  Forbye the bairn,\u2019 says she, \u2018I\u2019ve been a decent woman a\u2019 my days.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Will you,\u2019 says Mr. Soulis, \u2018in the name of God, and before me, His unworthy minister, renounce the devil and his works?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Weel, it wad appear that when he askit that, she gave a girn that fairly frichtit them that saw her, an\u2019 they could hear her teeth play dirl thegether in her chafts; but there was naething for it but the ae way or the ither; an\u2019 Janet lifted up her hand and renounced the deil before them a\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018And now,\u2019 says Mr. Soulis to the guidwives, \u2018home with ye, one and all, and pray to God for His forgiveness.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And he gied Janet his arm, though she had little on her but a sark, and took her up the clachan to her ain door like a leddy of the land; an\u2019 her scrieghin\u2019 and laughin\u2019 as was a scandal to be heard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were mony grave folk lang ower their prayers that nicht; but when the morn cam\u2019 there was sic a fear fell upon a\u2019 Ba\u2019weary that the bairns hid theirsels, and even the men folk stood and keekit frae their doors.  For there was Janet comin\u2019 doun the clachan \u2014 her or her likeness, nane could tell \u2014 wi\u2019 her neck thrawn, and her heid on ae side, like a body that has been hangit, and a girn on her face like an unstreakit corp.  By an\u2019 by they got used wi\u2019 it, and even speered at her to ken what was wrang; but frae that day forth she couldnae speak like a Christian woman, but slavered and played click wi\u2019 her teeth like a pair o\u2019 shears; and frae that day forth the name o\u2019 God cam never on her lips.  Whiles she wad try to say it, but it michtnae be.  Them that kenned best said least; but they never gied that Thing the name o\u2019 Janet M\u2019Clour; for the auld Janet, by their way o\u2019t, was in muckle hell that day.  But the minister was neither to haud nor to bind; he preached about naething but the folk\u2019s cruelty that had gi\u2019en her a stroke of the palsy; he skelpt the bairns that meddled her; and he had her up to the manse that same nicht, and dwalled there a\u2019 his lane wi\u2019 her under the Hangin\u2019 Shaw.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Weel, time gaed by: and the idler sort commenced to think mair lichtly o\u2019 that black business.  The minister was weel thocht o\u2019; he was aye late at the writing, folk wad see his can\u2019le doon by the Dule water after twal\u2019 at e\u2019en; and he seemed pleased wi\u2019 himsel\u2019 and upsitten as at first, though a\u2019 body could see that he was dwining.  As for Janet she cam an\u2019 she gaed; if she didnae speak muckle afore, it was reason she should speak less then; she meddled naebody; but she was an eldritch thing to see, an\u2019 nane wad hae mistrysted wi\u2019 her for Ba\u2019weary glebe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

About the end o\u2019 July there cam\u2019 a spell o\u2019 weather, the like o\u2019t never was in that country side; it was lown an\u2019 het an\u2019 heartless; the herds couldnae win up the Black Hill, the bairns were ower weariet to play; an\u2019 yet it was gousty too, wi\u2019 claps o\u2019 het wund that rumm\u2019led in the glens, and bits o\u2019 shouers that slockened naething.  We aye thocht it but to thun\u2019er on the morn; but the morn cam, an\u2019 the morn\u2019s morning, and it was aye the same uncanny weather, sair on folks and bestial.  Of a\u2019 that were the waur, nane suffered like Mr. Soulis; he could neither sleep nor eat, he tauld his elders; an\u2019 when he wasnae writin\u2019 at his weary book, he wad be stravaguin\u2019 ower a\u2019 the countryside like a man possessed, when a\u2019 body else was blythe to keep caller ben the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Abune Hangin\u2019 Shaw, in the bield o\u2019 the Black Hill, there\u2019s a bit enclosed grund wi\u2019 an iron yett; and it seems, in the auld days, that was the kirkyaird o\u2019 Ba\u2019weary, and consecrated by the Papists before the blessed licht shone upon the kingdom.  It was a great howff o\u2019 Mr. Soulis\u2019s, onyway; there he would sit an\u2019 consider his sermons; and indeed it\u2019s a bieldy bit.  Weel, as he cam ower the wast end o\u2019 the Black Hill, ae day, he saw first twa, an syne fower, an\u2019 syne seeven corbie craws fleein\u2019 round an\u2019 round abune the auld kirkyaird.  They flew laigh and heavy, an\u2019 squawked to ither as they gaed; and it was clear to Mr. Soulis that something had put them frae their ordinar.  He wasnae easy fleyed, an\u2019 gaed straucht up to the wa\u2019s; an\u2019 what suld he find there but a man, or the appearance of a man, sittin\u2019 in the inside upon a grave.  He was of a great stature, an\u2019 black as hell, and his e\u2019en were singular to see.   Mr. Soulis had heard tell o\u2019 black men, mony\u2019s the time; but there was something unco about this black man that daunted him.  Het as he was, he took a kind o\u2019 cauld grue in the marrow o\u2019 his banes; but up he spak for a\u2019 that; an\u2019 says he: \u2018My friend, are you a stranger in this place?\u2019  The black man answered never a word; he got upon his feet, an\u2019 begude to hirsle to the wa\u2019 on the far side; but he aye lookit at the minister; an\u2019 the minister stood an\u2019 lookit back; till a\u2019 in a meenute the black man was ower the wa\u2019 an\u2019 rinnin\u2019 for the bield o\u2019 the trees.  Mr. Soulis, he hardly kenned why, ran after him; but he was sair forjaskit wi\u2019 his walk an\u2019 the het, unhalesome weather; and rin as he likit, he got nae mair than a glisk o\u2019 the black man amang the birks, till he won doun to the foot o\u2019 the hill-side, an\u2019 there he saw him ance mair, gaun, hap, step, an\u2019 lowp, ower Dule water to the manse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mr. Soulis wasnae weel pleased that this fearsome gangrel suld mak\u2019 sae free wi\u2019 Ba\u2019weary manse; an\u2019 he ran the harder, an\u2019, wet shoon, ower the burn, an\u2019 up the walk; but the deil a black man was there to see.  He stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; he gaed a\u2019 ower the gairden, but na, nae black man.  At the hinder end, and a bit feared as was but natural, he lifted the hasp and into the manse; and there was Janet M\u2019Clour before his een, wi\u2019 her thrawn craig, and nane sae pleased to see him.  And he aye minded sinsyne, when first he set his een upon her, he had the same cauld and deidly grue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Janet,\u2019 says he, \u2018have you seen a black man?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018A black man?\u2019 quo\u2019 she.  \u2018Save us a\u2019!  Ye\u2019re no wise, minister.  There\u2019s nae black man in a Ba\u2019weary.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But she didnae speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered, like a powney wi\u2019 the bit in its moo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Weel,\u2019 says he, \u2018Janet, if there was nae black man, I have spoken with the Accuser of the Brethren.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And he sat down like ane wi\u2019 a fever, an\u2019 his teeth chittered in his heid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Hoots,\u2019 says she, \u2018think shame to yoursel\u2019, minister;\u2019 an\u2019 gied him a drap brandy that she keept aye by her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a\u2019 his books.  It\u2019s a lang, laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin\u2019 cauld in winter, an\u2019 no very dry even in the tap o\u2019 the simmer, for the manse stands near the burn.  Sae doun he sat, and thocht of a\u2019 that had come an\u2019 gane since he was in Ba\u2019weary, an\u2019 his hame, an\u2019 the days when he was a bairn an\u2019 ran daffin\u2019 on the braes; and that black man aye ran in his heid like the ower-come of a sang.  Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht o\u2019 the black man.  He tried the prayer, an\u2019 the words wouldnae come to him; an\u2019 he tried, they say, to write at his book, but he could nae mak\u2019 nae mair o\u2019 that.  There was whiles he thocht the black man was at his oxter, an\u2019 the swat stood upon him cauld as well-water; and there was other whiles, when he cam to himsel\u2019 like a christened bairn and minded naething.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The upshot was that he gaed to the window an\u2019 stood glowrin\u2019 at Dule water.  The trees are unco thick, an\u2019 the water lies deep an\u2019 black under the manse; an\u2019 there was Janct washin\u2019 the cla\u2019es wi\u2019 her coats kilted.  She had her back to the minister, an\u2019 he, for his pairt, hardly kenned what he was lookin\u2019 at.  Syne she turned round, an\u2019 shawed her face; Mr. Soulis had the same cauld grue as twice that day afore, an\u2019 it was borne in upon him what folk said, that Janet was deid lang syne, an\u2019 this was a bogle in her clay-cauld flesh.  He drew back a pickle and he scanned her narrowly.  She was tramp-trampin\u2019 in the cla\u2019es, croonin\u2019 to hersel\u2019; and eh!  Gude guide us, but it was a fearsome face.  Whiles she sang louder, but there was nae man born o\u2019 woman that could tell the words o\u2019 her sang; an\u2019 whiles she lookit side-lang doun, but there was naething there for her to look at.  There gaed a scunner through the flesh upon his banes; and that was Heeven\u2019s advertisement.  But Mr. Soulis just blamed himsel\u2019, he said, to think sae ill of a puir, auld afflicted wife that hadnae a freend forbye himsel\u2019; an\u2019 he put up a bit prayer for him and her, an\u2019 drank a little caller water \u2014 for his heart rose again the meat \u2014 an\u2019 gaed up to his naked bed in the gloaming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in Ba\u2019weary, the nicht o\u2019 the seeventeenth of August, seventeen hun\u2019er\u2019 an twal\u2019.  It had been het afore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was hetter than ever.  The sun gaed doun amang unco-lookin\u2019 clouds; it fell as mirk as the pit; no a star, no a breath o\u2019 wund; ye couldnae see your han\u2019 afore your face, and even the auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds and lay pechin\u2019 for their breath.  Wi\u2019 a\u2019 that he had upon his mind, it was gey and unlikely Mr. Soulis wad get muckle sleep.  He lay an\u2019 he tummled; the gude, caller bed that he got into brunt his very banes; whiles he slept, and whiles he waukened; whiles he heard the time o\u2019 nicht, and whiles a tyke yowlin\u2019 up the muir, as if somebody was deid; whiles he thocht he heard bogles claverin\u2019 in his lug, an\u2019 whiles he saw spunkies in the room.  He behoved, he judged, to be sick; an\u2019 sick he was \u2014 little he jaloosed the sickness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his sark on the bed-side, and fell thinkin\u2019 ance mair o\u2019 the black man an\u2019 Janet.  He couldnae weel tell how \u2014 maybe it was the cauld to his feet \u2014 but it cam\u2019 in upon him wi\u2019 a spate that there was some connection between thir twa, an\u2019 that either or baith o\u2019 them were bogles.  And just at that moment, in Janet\u2019s room, which was neist to his, there cam\u2019 a stramp o\u2019 feet as if men were wars\u2019lin\u2019, an\u2019 then a loud bang; an\u2019 then a wund gaed reishling round the fower quarters of the house; an\u2019 then a\u2019 was aince mair as seelent as the grave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mr. Soulis was feared for neither man nor deevil.  He got his tinder-box, an\u2019 lit a can\u2019le, an\u2019 made three steps o\u2019t ower to Janet\u2019s door.  It was on the hasp, an\u2019 he pushed it open, an\u2019 keeked bauldly in.  It was a big room, as big as the minister\u2019s ain, an\u2019 plenished wi\u2019 grand, auld, solid gear, for he had naething else.  There was a fower-posted bed wi\u2019 auld tapestry; and a braw cabinet of aik, that was fu\u2019 o\u2019 the minister\u2019s divinity books, an\u2019 put there to be out o\u2019 the gate; an\u2019 a wheen duds o\u2019 Janet\u2019s lying here and there about the floor.  But nae Janet could Mr. Soulis see; nor ony sign of a contention.  In he gaed (an\u2019 there\u2019s few that wad ha\u2019e followed him) an\u2019 lookit a\u2019 round, an\u2019 listened.  But there was naethin\u2019 to be heard, neither inside the manse nor in a\u2019 Ba\u2019weary parish, an\u2019 naethin\u2019 to be seen but the muckle shadows turnin\u2019 round the can\u2019le.  An\u2019 then a\u2019 at aince, the minister\u2019s heart played dunt an\u2019 stood stock-still; an\u2019 a cauld wund blew amang the hairs o\u2019 his heid.  Whaten a weary sicht was that for the puir man\u2019s een!  For there was Janat hangin\u2019 frae a nail beside the auld aik cabinet: her heid aye lay on her shoother, her een were steeked, the tongue projekit frae her mouth, and her heels were twa feet clear abune the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018God forgive us all!\u2019 thocht Mr. Soulis; \u2018poor Janet\u2019s dead.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He cam\u2019 a step nearer to the corp; an\u2019 then his heart fair whammled in his inside.  For by what cantrip it wad ill-beseem a man to judge, she was hingin\u2019 frae a single nail an\u2019 by a single wursted thread for darnin\u2019 hose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s an awfu\u2019 thing to be your lane at nicht wi\u2019 siccan prodigies o\u2019 darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord.  He turned an\u2019 gaed his ways oot o\u2019 that room, and lockit the door ahint him; and step by step, doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the can\u2019le on the table at the stairfoot.  He couldnae pray, he couldnae think, he was dreepin\u2019 wi\u2019 caul\u2019 swat, an\u2019 naething could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin\u2019 o\u2019 his ain heart.  He micht maybe have stood there an hour, or maybe twa, he minded sae little; when a\u2019 o\u2019 a sudden, he heard a laigh, uncanny steer upstairs; a foot gaed to an\u2019 fro in the cha\u2019mer whaur the corp was hingin\u2019; syne the door was opened, though he minded weel that he had lockit it; an\u2019 syne there was a step upon the landin\u2019, an\u2019 it seemed to him as if the corp was lookin\u2019 ower the rail and doun upon him whaur he stood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He took up the can\u2019le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and as saftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o\u2019 the manse an\u2019 to the far end o\u2019 the causeway.  It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o\u2019 the can\u2019le, when he set it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a room; naething moved, but the Dule water seepin\u2019 and sabbin\u2019 doon the glen, an\u2019 yon unhaly footstep that cam\u2019 ploddin doun the stairs inside the manse.  He kenned the foot over weel, for it was Janet\u2019s; and at ilka step that cam\u2019 a wee thing nearer, the cauld got deeper in his vitals.  He commanded his soul to Him that made an\u2019 keepit him; \u2018and O Lord,\u2019 said he, \u2018give me strength this night to war against the powers of evil.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By this time the foot was comin\u2019 through the passage for the door; he could hear a hand skirt alang the wa\u2019, as if the fearsome thing was feelin\u2019 for its way.  The saughs tossed an\u2019 maned thegether, a lang sigh cam\u2019 ower the hills, the flame o\u2019 the can\u2019le was blawn aboot; an\u2019 there stood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi\u2019 her grogram goun an\u2019 her black mutch, wi\u2019 the heid aye upon the shouther, an\u2019 the girn still upon the face o\u2019t \u2014 leevin\u2019, ye wad hae said \u2014 deid, as Mr. Soulis weel kenned \u2014 upon the threshold o\u2019 the manse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s a strange thing that the saul of man should be that thirled into his perishable body; but the minister saw that, an\u2019 his heart didnae break.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She didnae stand there lang; she began to move again an\u2019 cam\u2019 slowly towards Mr. Soulis whaur he stood under the saughs.  A\u2019 the life o\u2019 his body, a\u2019 the strength o\u2019 his speerit, were glowerin\u2019 frae his een.  It seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, an\u2019 made a sign wi\u2019 the left hand.  There cam\u2019 a clap o\u2019 wund, like a cat\u2019s fuff; oot gaed the can\u2019le, the saughs skrieghed like folk; an\u2019 Mr. Soulis kenned that, live or die, this was the end o\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2018Witch, beldame, devil!\u2019 he cried, \u2018I charge you, by the power of God, begone \u2014 if you be dead, to the grave \u2014 if you be damned, to hell.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An\u2019 at that moment the Lord\u2019s ain hand out o\u2019 the Heevens struck the Horror whaur it stood; the auld, deid, desecrated corp o\u2019 the witch-wife, sae lang keepit frae the grave and hirsled round by deils, lowed up like a brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the grund; the thunder followed, peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain upon the back o\u2019 that; and Mr. Soulis lowped through the garden hedge, and ran, wi\u2019 skelloch upon skelloch, for the clachan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That same mornin\u2019, John Christie saw the Black Man pass the Muckle Cairn as it was chappin\u2019 six; before eicht, he gaed by the change-house at Knockdow; an\u2019 no lang after, Sandy M\u2019Lellan saw him gaun linkin\u2019 doun the braes frae Kilmackerlie.  There\u2019s little doubt but it was him that dwalled sae lang in Janet\u2019s body; but he was awa\u2019 at last; and sinsyne the deil has never fashed us in Ba\u2019weary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang, lang he lay ravin\u2019 in his bed; and frae that hour to this, he was the man ye ken the day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

“Thrawn Janet” is a short story by Robert Louis Stevenson, first published in October 1881 in The Cornhill Magazine. A young minister, Reverend Soulis, arrives in the Scottish village of Balweary to take charge of the parish. Ignoring the warnings of the locals, he hires Janet M\u2019Clour as his housekeeper\u2014a woman of ill repute, accused of witchcraft. After a tense confrontation with the village women, Janet publicly swears to renounce the devil. From that moment on, something disturbing begins to manifest around her, and the manse becomes shrouded in an atmosphere of growing fear and mystery.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":24432,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[572,721,772],"class_list":["post-24444","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-horror-en","tag-robert-louis-stevenson-en","tag-united-kingdom","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":572,"label":"Horror"},{"value":721,"label":"Robert Louis Stevenson"},{"value":772,"label":"United Kingdom"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/10\/Robert-Louis-Stevenson-Janet-la-contrahecha.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":420,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":420,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":572,"name":"Horror","slug":"horror-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":572,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":128,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":721,"name":"Robert Louis Stevenson","slug":"robert-louis-stevenson-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":721,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":4,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":772,"name":"United Kingdom","slug":"united-kingdom","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":772,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":93,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24444","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=24444"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24444\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/24432"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=24444"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=24444"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=24444"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}