Frau Trude

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was headstrong and curious to a fault. No matter what her parents said, she never obeyed them, always insisting on following her own path. How could such a child prosper in the world?

One day, the little girl said to her parents, “I have heard so much about Frau Trude who lives beyond the forest. People speak of strange things in her house that I long to see. I shall visit her today.”

Her parents’ faces grew pale with fear. “No, child,” her father said firmly. “Frau Trude is a wicked woman who practices dark arts. If you go to her, you will no longer be our child.”

Her mother took her hands and pleaded, “Those who visit Frau Trude’s house rarely return, and those who do are never the same. Promise us you will stay away.”

But the little girl paid no heed to her parents’ warnings. The forbidden nature of Frau Trude’s house only made her more determined to see it. The very next morning, while her parents were busy with their chores, she slipped away from home and took the path that led deep into the forest.

The forest grew darker and wilder as she walked. Thorny bushes caught at her dress, and twisted roots seemed to reach up from the ground to trip her. Strange sounds echoed among the trees—whispers and rustlings that made the girl’s heart beat faster. Yet still she pressed on, drawn by an irresistible curiosity.

At last, she came to a small clearing where stood a cottage unlike any she had seen before. Its walls seemed to lean in impossible directions, and smoke of an unusual color curled from the chimney. This, she knew, must be Frau Trude’s dwelling.

Gathering her courage, the girl approached and knocked on the door. When no answer came, she pushed it open and stepped inside.

The interior was dimly lit and filled with strange objects—bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, shelves crowded with bottles containing liquids of every color, and peculiar implements whose purposes the girl could not guess.

“Frau Trude?” she called, her voice smaller than she intended.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she noticed a figure stoking the fire in the hearth. The girl gasped, for it was a black man dressed entirely in soot-colored clothes.

“Who—who are you?” stammered the girl.

“I am the first servant of Frau Trude,” replied the black man without turning around.

Looking around nervously, the girl saw another figure seated on a chopping block. This one was dressed entirely in red, with a face to match.

“And who are you?” asked the girl, her curiosity momentarily overcoming her fear.

“I am the second servant of Frau Trude,” answered the red man, his voice crackling like flames.

In the corner stood a third figure, dressed entirely in green, aiming a bow at an unseen target.

“I am the third servant of Frau Trude,” said the green man before the girl could ask.

The little girl’s heart was now racing with fear, but a strange fascination kept her from fleeing. “Where is Frau Trude herself?” she asked.

“Here I am, child,” came a voice from the shadows.

An old woman emerged from the darkest corner of the room. Her hair was wild and gray, her eyes sharp and knowing, and her fingers long and gnarled like twisted branches.

“You have been most disobedient,” said Frau Trude, coming closer. “Your parents warned you not to come, yet here you stand in my house.”

The little girl backed away. “I—I was curious. People speak of strange things in your house.”

“Curiosity is a fine quality,” said Frau Trude with a smile that did not reach her eyes, “when tempered with wisdom. But you have neither wisdom nor obedience.”

“Who are these servants of yours?” asked the girl, trying to sound brave.

“They are not servants at all,” replied Frau Trude. “What you have seen are visions of what is to come. The black man is the fire that will consume the disobedient. The red man is the chopping block that awaits the foolish. And the green man is fate itself, whose arrow finds all who stray too far from the path of wisdom.”

The girl’s face drained of color. “I should go home now,” she whispered.

“It is too late for that,” said Frau Trude. “Those who come to my house uninvited must pay a price.”

With these words, Frau Trude transformed the little girl into a block of wood and threw it into the fire. As the wood burned bright and hot, Frau Trude sat by the hearth, warming her hands and speaking to no one in particular.

“That gives a fine light,” she said, watching the flames dance.

Back in the village, the little girl’s parents waited and worried. Days passed with no sign of their daughter. Search parties combed the forest but found nothing. Eventually, the villagers whispered that the child must have found her way to Frau Trude’s cottage.

“She would not listen,” said her father sadly.

“She would not obey,” echoed her mother through her tears.

And so the tale of the headstrong little girl became a warning passed down through generations—a reminder that curiosity without caution and exploration without obedience can lead to perilous consequences. Parents would tell their children the story of Frau Trude, and when young ones asked too many questions or showed signs of willfulness, they would say:

“Remember the little girl who visited Frau Trude. She, too, was curious and disobedient.”

This would usually quiet even the most rebellious child, at least for a time, as they pondered the fate of the girl who had wandered too far from the path of wisdom and found herself unable to return.