A sock has vanished, something's clattering in the loft and the remote is under a cushion you've definitely checked. Blaming the Trasgu has one obvious advantage: you don't have to admit you've spent ten minutes being rubbish at looking.
Let's meet some of the creatures of Asturian folklore with that smile in mind. Some help, some frighten people, and some change considerably from one telling to another. There's rather more going on here than a crowd of little woodland chaps in different hats.
Our starting point is Aurelio de Llano's Del folklore asturiano: mitos, supersticiones, costumbres, published in 1922. It records stories and particular places. We're reading a historical collection, complete with its author's interpretations, rather than a supernatural electoral register.
The Trasgu comes along for the house move
Llano describes a small creature in a red blouse and cap who comes in at night and does household jobs. He can also cause a tremendous racket. The sort of lodger who tidies the kitchen and then makes enough noise to keep everyone awake.
One particularly good trick comes when a family moves house to get away from him. The Trasgu turns up at the new place with something they've left behind. He's coming too. You've organised the carts and furniture, and he's delighted with his improved accommodation.
The stories offer impossible tasks as a way of getting rid of him. Llano says the flax seeds he's asked to gather fall through a hole in his left palm. He's also told to fetch water in a basket. The basket leaks water, the hand drops seeds. Neither task is going well.
In these versions, he leaves in embarrassment when he fails. Each telling has its ending. The household spirits of European folklore include several more troublesome neighbours, all with their own peculiarities.
Xanas have more to offer than lovely hair
Llano places xanas in springs and caves. His accounts include long hair, treasures, spinning and golden objects. But the characters also have opinions, which is far more interesting than making them pose beside the water all afternoon.
In a story from Cardo, in Gozón, a woman spots rosary beads protruding from a spring and wants to take them for her daughter. A xana appears and asks how she's supposed to pray if the woman takes her beads. The woman leaves them and goes away embarrassed. Awkward. You stop for a rest and end up being told off for helping yourself to someone else's belongings.
Elsewhere, a seamstress helps a xana give birth and receives golden scissors in return. There's gratitude and a gift chosen to suit the person receiving it. You wouldn't leave those scissors rattling round the kitchen drawer.
The Nuberu remembers a favour
The Nuberu controls storms in these tales. A fairly intimidating skill. Imagine arguing with someone who can take the good weather away when he slams the door.
In Llano's Juan Cabrito story, the Nuberu is stranded on the ground after his clouds get away from him. He asks for somewhere to stay. A rich farmer refuses, while a poorer one welcomes him. Afterwards, he punishes the first farmer's land and looks after the second man's crops.
Later, that helpful farmer ends up in Egypt and meets him again. The Nuberu arranges his return home on a billy goat that travels through the air. That night's hospitality comes back round. Explaining the airport pickup arrangements could take a while.
The Cuélebre and the bread bill
The Cuélebre appears as a winged serpent guarding treasures and enchanted beings. Llano records tales connected with caves and other Asturian places. Picture the sort of guard you can't distract by pointing over his shoulder and shouting, “What's that?”
In the story from Brañaseca, in Cudillero, villagers feed a Cuélebre maize bread and rye bread to stop it eating their livestock. An awkward agreement: you keep baking and he agrees not to have your cows for lunch. Eventually they trick him with a red-hot stone, and he dies. Monster stories can have brutal endings.
With a diner like that on the edge of the village, ordering another loaf could sound like a matter of public safety.
The Güestia makes you watch your step
The Güestia, also written Guestia, takes us onto nighttime paths with processions of souls. Some people in Llano's tales can see them and others can't. That detail does plenty of work: you're chatting away when your companion steps aside for something you can't see.
In a story from Santo Adriano de Riosa, a man offers his shoulder for his servant to rest his chin on. When the servant does so, he sees the procession going past. So much for brushing it off as someone's imagination.
The book also describes a circle drawn on the ground as a refuge from the procession. That's part of these beliefs. It doesn't turn every European tale of a ghostly procession into one story with a shared rulebook.
Busgosu and Sumiciu: even folklore has arguments
These two deserve a closer look. Llano mentions the Busgosu's horns and goat legs, but challenges other writers' claims for an Asturian oral tradition about him. He says he didn't find those stories among the people he questioned. That's his assessment, published in 1922.
For the Sumiciu, he records an expression used when something you've just seen disappears. To Llano, it was a figure of speech rather than a character with an established body of tales. It's closer to “But I left it right here” than to a woodland guide deliberately sending you the wrong way.
Both now feature among the wooden figures on the Camín Encantáu in Ardisana, Llanes. Stories also travel through books, sculptures and fresh retellings.
I rather like the disagreement. Who told which story, where was it collected, and what happened when someone retold it? Plenty to chat about, and considerably more interesting than inventing one grand origin for the whole palaver.
Where Magikitos fit in
The Magikitos have their own fictional origin: they're born when someone has a happy poo in the woods. The cold-porcelain figures represent them. We like sharing an imaginary bookshelf with these Asturian stories, while letting each character keep their own name and tale.
Once you've met them, a noise in the loft might remind you of the Trasgu, or a dark cloud of the Nuberu. You can enjoy that imaginary company while still fixing the loose board and bringing the washing in. Folklore provides the conversation. The laundry is still your job.
Does every version describe these creatures in the same way?
No. Details and events vary between places, storytellers and collections. That's why we've identified the particular accounts we're following here.
Is Magikito another name for the Trasgu?
No. The Trasgu belongs to Asturian traditions, while Magikitos are characters in our own fiction. They can share a taste for mischief without being the same creature.
