In the heart of Croatia, between Zagreb and the banks of the Sava, lies Ivanić-Grad. In 1863 the folklorist Đuro Deželić wandered this region, writing down tales villagers had guarded for centuries. He preserved legends where spirits dance in the woods, witches lurk in secrecy, and dragons demand tribute—some of the eeriest sparks of Balkan folklore.
The Vilas’ Dance
In Ivanić-Grad people often spoke of vile—bodiless beings of beauty and danger. They appeared in groves bathed in moonlight, with hair loose and black as a raven’s wing or golden as ripe grain. To human eyes they looked like maidens—save for the goats’ legs hidden beneath white veils.
After storms, the delicate white threads drifting through the air were called “vilina svila,” fairy silk—sometimes even the vilas themselves. Their harmonies were sweeter than any mortal song; shepherds dozing on the pastures were sometimes lucky—or cursed—to witness them. To see a vila was to touch the extraordinary, at a price few wished to pay.
Ghostly Fire in the Knež Forest
A stableman from Cepetić lost his way in the Knež forest and heard laughter and music as if a hidden round dance were happening under the oaks. Drawn closer, he came upon a fire blazing fiercely beneath a tree. Around it—no one—only trampled grass, as if the dancers had just vanished.
Curious, he lit his pipe at that spectral flame. The fire gave no warmth; a chill crept into his bones. Later, when he knocked the ash from his pipe, he found a coin inside. Soon after, his life withered; his smile went silent; his eyes sank deep. The village whispered that he had crossed the threshold of the vilas’ world and that they had taken him for their own.
The Alluring Guest
Another horseman, in the same forest, saw a pale woman by his campfire. She held the mane of his finest mount, sorrow swimming in her eyes. She asked for the horse; he refused. Yet with an otherworldly ease she leapt on and drove the whole herd off into the night.
Those who saw him later said his skin was like rusted earth, and a thin trickle of blood ran from his ear. The price of offending a spirit, they said, is to bear its mark forever.
A Witch’s Secret
Witches pervaded the Ivanić-Grad tales: old women with hidden jars of herbs and salves, believed to sow mischief under the young moon. One story tells of a young assistant who, following instructions, made a special stool from wood cut between St. Lucy’s Day and Christmas Eve. At midnight Mass he sat on it and saw which women were witches.
But when the priest finished his prayers too quickly, the witches noticed him. They nearly dragged him to doom; only desperate clouds of church incense kept breath in him. Still he wasted away until one witch offered a cure: split a hen and eat its still-beating heart. He lived—but people said the witches kept riding him at night and carrying him to their sabbaths against his will.
A Witch’s Revenge
A mother quarreled with two old women. In revenge, the witches cursed her children. One by one they died, until only her eight-year-old daughter remained.
As they were bringing the girl back from her grandfather’s village, two toads leapt from the grass and turned into those same old women. From their hats they summoned horses, seized the child, and carried her to a crossroads. There, beneath an old walnut tree, they boiled her in hot oil.
Only a handkerchief buried under the root and some charred remains bore witness to their vengeance.
Witch-Riding
Some witches didn’t just ride brooms—they rode people. A servant offended an old cook. At night she came, drained his strength, and harnessed him like a horse. She would ride him to a witches’ feast, while others arrived on brooms or stolen mounts.
At last he outwitted her. He swapped sleeping places and tricked her into taking the wrong man; when she returned, he threw a bridle over her head. In an instant she turned into a mare. He rode her to the blacksmith to have her shod. By morning the old woman was gone; when they found her, an iron horseshoe was nailed through her feet. Soon after—she was burned.
The Birth of a Werewolf
In Ivanić-Grad a vukodlak was not a man cursed by the moon, but a child—stillborn or buried without baptism—who rose after seven years as a beast. Bigger than a wolf and able to change shape, it spread fear across the land. Yet it had a weakness: only hawthorn could drive it away.
A Dragon’s Tribute
A dragon demanded maidens for tribute. In the Ivanić-Grad version, every fifth year the monster required a bride—or it would lay waste to the kingdom. When a Romani girl was chosen, her secret lover, a learned apprentice, refused to surrender her.
He baked a strange cake from pitch, honey, horseradish, garlic, and a dead man’s hair. When the dragon flew in, he flung it straight down its throat. Choking, the beast faltered, and the apprentice drove a spear through its head. He won both the girl and the king’s reward—proof that cunning and courage sometimes overcome even ancient dread.
Echoes of Ivanić-Grad
These legends, preserved by Deželić, show how deeply myth flowed through daily life. People lived on a threshold: by day, fields and woods; by night, a landscape where vilas sing, witches scheme, and dragons circle. To retell them is to walk again through that twilight world—half history, half enchantment—where every shadow hides a myth waiting to be returned to memory.
Frequently Asked Questions
Who recorded the Ivanić-Grad folklore presented here?
A: The Croatian writer and folklorist Đuro Deželić wrote these tales down in 1863, based on the accounts of local residents.
Who are the ‘vile’ in the South Slavic lore around Ivanić-Grad?
A: Supernatural maidens—beautiful and dangerous—whose songs and dances can bless or ruin the onlooker.
How did 19th-century villagers protect themselves from witches and evil forces?
A: With iron, hawthorn thorns, protective prayers, and church incense—deeply rooted traditional safeguards.
What does “vukodlak” mean in this tradition, and how was it driven away?
A: A being arising from a restless burial; it is repelled with hawthorn, especially a sharp thorn.
Are these legends historical fact or cultural symbol?
A: They’re best read as cultural truth—a window into 19th-century beliefs—rather than literal history.
