Icelandic Halloween Special: The Undead Deacon of Dark River

I am a huge fan of the imported festival of Halloween. It has become very popular here in Iceland, which is not surprising. Icelandic culture and folklore are wedded to the macabre. Since it is the spooky season, I thought it would be a good idea to do something different this week and see if you like my Icelandic Halloween Special, which is a tale of love, death, and the undead from Eyjafjörður, home to the town of Akureyri.

A Christmas Eve Like No Other

In the old days, there lived a deacon at the farm Myrká (Dark River) in Eyjafjörður, northern Iceland. History hasn’t preserved his name, but his story has haunted Icelanders for centuries. The deacon was courting a woman named Guðrún, a servant girl who worked at the parsonage at Bægisá, across the Hörgá river.

The deacon owned a dapple-gray horse that he called Faxi, and he rode him everywhere.

The Fatal Journey

Just before Christmas, the deacon rode to Bægisá to invite Guðrún to the Christmas celebrations at Myrká. He promised to fetch her on Christmas Eve and escort her to the festivities himself.

The days before his visit had brought heavy snow and ice. But on the day he rode to Bægisá, a sudden thaw arrived with driving sleet. While the deacon lingered at the farm, the Hörgá river swelled dangerously with meltwater and ice floes, becoming completely impassable.

When the deacon finally left Bægisá, he didn’t realize how dramatically conditions had changed. He crossed the Yxnadalsá river safely on its bridge, but when he reached the Hörgá river, he found it had broken free of ice. He rode along the riverbank until he came to Saurbær, the farm just before Myrká, where there was a bridge.

The deacon rode onto the bridge. Halfway across, it collapsed beneath him, and both horse and rider plunged into the icy torrent.

The Grim Discovery

The next morning, the farmer at Þúfnavellir rose from his bed and spotted a saddled horse below his hayfield. He recognized Faxi, the deacon’s horse from Myrká. Alarmed—he had seen the deacon riding past the day before, but never saw him return—the farmer hurried down to investigate.

Faxi stood there, soaking wet and in poor condition. Following a hunch, the farmer walked down to the river to a point called Þúfnavallanes. There he found the deacon’s lifeless body, washed up on the headland. The back of his skull had been badly damaged by ice chunks.

The farmer immediately went to Myrká to report the tragedy. The deacon’s body was brought home and buried during the week before Christmas.

Christmas Eve Arrives

Because of the flooding and impassable conditions, no word of the accident reached Bægisá. On Christmas Eve, the weather calmed and the river subsided overnight. Guðrún, expecting her promised escort, began preparing for the Christmas celebration at Myrká.

Late in the afternoon, as she was nearly ready, there came a knock at the door. Another woman went to answer but saw no one outside—though the night was neither fully bright nor fully dark, as the moon played hide-and-seek behind drifting clouds.
When the woman returned inside, seeing nothing, Guðrún said, “The visit must be for me. I shall go out myself.”

She was completely ready except for putting on her overcoat. She slipped one arm into a sleeve, then threw the other sleeve over her shoulder and held it there as she went outside.

The Midnight Ride

There stood Faxi before the door, with a man beside him whom Guðrún took to be the deacon. No words passed between them. He lifted her onto the horse’s back, then mounted in front of her, and they rode off into the winter night.

They rode in silence for some time. Eventually, they came to the Hörgá river, where high banks rose on either side. As the horse plunged down the steep bank, the deacon’s hat lifted at the back, and Guðrún saw into his skull.

At that very moment, the clouds parted and moonlight flooded the landscape. The deacon spoke:

“The moon glides,
Death rides;
Do you not see the white spot
On the back of my head,
Garún, Garún?”

Terror seized her, but she said nothing. (Some versions say Guðrún herself lifted his hat and saw the white of his skull, and should have replied, “I see what I see.”)

They rode on in dreadful silence until they arrived at Myrká, dismounting before the cemetery gate. The deacon said to her:

“Wait here, Garún, Garún,
While I take Faxi, Faxi,
Up to the stable, stable.”
The Cemetery Gate

He led the horse away, and Guðrún peered into the churchyard. She saw an open grave and was overcome with terror. But she kept her wits about her and grabbed the church bell rope.

In that instant, something seized her from behind. Her good fortune was that she hadn’t had time to put both arms through her coat sleeves—the undead deacon grabbed her coat and pulled so violently that it tore along the shoulder seam of the sleeve she’d put on.

The last she saw of the deacon, he tumbled with the torn piece of coat into the open grave, and earth cascaded over him from both sides, burying him once more.

The Haunting

Guðrún rang the bell continuously until the people of Myrká came out to fetch her. She was so terrified by her ordeal that she dared not move or stop ringing, for she knew she had encountered the deacon returned from the dead—though she’d had no news of his death before that moment.

Her fears were confirmed when the Myrká folk told her the full story of the deacon’s drowning, and she, in turn, told them of her nightmarish ride.

That same night, after everyone had gone to bed and the lights were out, the deacon came and pursued Guðrún. The disturbance was so great that everyone had to get up, and no one could sleep that night. For half a month afterward, Guðrún could never be left alone, and someone had to watch over her every night. Some say the priest had to sit on her bedframe reading from the Psalter.

The Laying to Rest

Finally, a sorcerer was fetched from the west, from Skagafjörður. When he arrived, he had a large stone dug up from above the hayfield and rolled down to the gable end of the farmhouse.

That evening, as darkness fell, the deacon came and tried to enter the house. The sorcerer drove him south past the gable and forced him down there with powerful incantations. Then he rolled the stone over the grave, and there the deacon is said to rest to this very day.

After this, all the hauntings at Myrká ceased, and Guðrún began to recover. Shortly afterward, she returned home to Bægisá. People say she was never quite the same again.