There was once a man named Tan Jinxuan who devoted himself to inner cultivation. He practiced breathing and stillness, enduring heat and cold alike, believing that persistence would bring insight. For many months nothing happened—until one day, as he sat quietly, he heard a faint whisper inside his ear, as soft as the buzzing of a fly.
The voice said, “You can see me.”
When Tan opened his eyes, the sound vanished. When he closed them and calmed his mind, the whisper returned. Each time he sat in meditation, the tiny voice spoke again, and Tan grew convinced that something truly lived within his ear.
One day, when the voice spoke once more, Tan answered it. At that moment, a tiny being leapt out from his ear and fell spinning onto the ground. It was no more than three inches tall, shaped like a small man with a fierce face like a yaksha, savage and sharp-eyed despite its size.
Tan stared in astonishment as the little creature whirled about, real and solid, no longer hidden. Before he could grasp it or speak further, it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving Tan alone with the certainty that unseen beings dwell closer to humans than anyone suspects.
Thus it was said that some spirits live not in forests or mountains, but within the body itself—heard only in silence, seen only by those who dare to listen.
Gallery
Sources
Wikipedia contributors. (n.d.). 耳中人. In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, from https://zh.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E8%80%B3%E4%B8%AD%E4%BA%BA
Beneath fields, hills, and old farmyards live the aardmannetjes, small earth beings usually dressed in green. They dwell unseen beneath the ground, moving quietly through the soil, and though most people never glimpse them, their presence is felt in subtle ways.
The aardmannetjes help humans with their work, but only if they are not watched. Crops grow straighter, tools are found where they were lost, and tasks seem to finish themselves overnight. Yet they do not tolerate curiosity. Anyone who spies on them risks punishment, for the aardmannetjes are said to blow out the eye of those who try to observe them.
They are also known to steal human children, leaving one of their own in the cradle instead. The small pipes sometimes found sticking out of the ground are said to be aardmanspijpjes, openings to their hidden homes. Whoever builds a house on land where aardmannetjes live invites disaster: such houses are doomed to be destroyed by fire or storm, again and again.
In Friesland, the ierdmantsjes are said to dance in the middle of cornfields, singing a strange song: “Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.” Once, a hunchback overheard them and dared to finish the song with “Thursday, Friday.” Instead of punishing him, the earth beings laughed and rewarded him by removing his hump.
In another tale, a mighty, hairy aardman lived in the Aardjesberg near Bussum. Each year he demanded a maiden as his bride. When no maidens were left, his rage grew uncontrollable. He spewed fire from his mouth, and the nearby village was burned to the ground, house by house, until nothing remained.
Thus the aardmannetjes are remembered as helpers and destroyers alike—generous when respected, merciless when crossed—guardians of the earth who demand silence, distance, and humility from those who live above them.
Limburg
In the folklore of Limburg, especially along the River Maas, people once believed in small underground beings called aardmannetjes (little earth men). According to local legends, they lived in tunnels beneath places such as the ruins of Stein Castle. These creatures slept during the day and came out at night. They were said to wander through houses borrowing kitchen utensils, milking cows, and sometimes causing quarrels among servants, whom they would watch and laugh at from a distance.
Stories about them were told across many Limburg villages. In Doenrade, a servant once tried to trick the aardmannetjes by putting pieces of old shoe leather into a pot of rice pudding meant for them. When the dwarfs discovered the prank, they realized they were being spied on and extinguished the servant’s light—after which he was said to have lost an eye.
In Roggel, the aardmannetjes were believed to borrow pots and pans at night and return them before morning, carefully cleaned. They were harmless as long as people left them alone and did not try to look at them. According to tradition, they eventually disappeared because they could not tolerate the sound of church bells.
Similar traditions placed them at other locations such as Pijpersberg, Spekberg near Tegelen, and near Nunhem and Heithuizen. At Spekberg, legends claimed the small people once lived inside the sandy hill and smoked tiny pipes. Small clay pipes occasionally found in the ground were popularly believed to have belonged to these beings, though scholars later suggested they were early tobacco pipes.
One famous incident occurred around 1832, when a local man secretly buried small pipes in the hill and later “discovered” them, claiming they were relics of the aardmannetjes. After an investigation by the Belgian authorities, he confessed the find was a hoax.
Frisia
Another story from Maasbree tells that when a fire destroyed twenty-two houses, one home remained untouched because its owner had always lent household items to the little people. Like many supernatural beings in European folklore, the aardmannetjes were eventually said to have vanished when church bells and Christian practices spread through the region.
An old folk tale tells of a farm laborer named Sjoerd, who was known in his village as Sjoerd Bult because of his large hunchback. One evening, as he and his wife returned from the fields by moonlight, they crossed a wheat field and heard a strange buzzing sound. Soon countless aardmannetjes—tiny earth-dwelling beings—climbed out of the furrows and began dancing.
Seeing the pitchfork Sjoerd carried (whose shape resembled a cross), the little creatures showed respect and did not harm him. Instead they asked him to join their dance. As they danced, they sang the same short verse over and over:
“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.”
Sjoerd laughed and told them their song was incomplete. He added the missing days—“Thursday, Friday, Saturday.” The earth men were delighted and offered him a reward: he could choose either wealth or beauty. Sjoerd chose to be rid of his hunchback. The dwarfs tossed him high into the air, and when he landed, his back was straight.
When the villagers saw Sjoerd the next day, they were amazed. But a greedy and ill-tempered tailor named Semme, who lived in the same village, demanded to know how the miracle had happened. That night he went to the field himself. Trying to imitate Sjoerd, he clumsily added “Sunday” to the song, but he demanded the reward that Sjoerd had refused—wealth. The earth men laughed, tossed him into the air, and when he landed he had gained Sjoerd’s old hump.
Later Sjoerd returned to the field once more. The aardmannetjes explained that they had been forced to dance every moonlit night until someone completed their song. Because Sjoerd had done so, they were now free to return to their underground realm. As thanks, they filled his sack with small bags of gold. When Sjoerd arrived home, the treasure had turned into stones and leaves—but when he sprinkled holy water on them, they transformed back into gold and precious jewels.
From that day on, Sjoerd became a wealthy man and no longer had to depend on the greedy tailor.
Gallery
Sources
Abe de Verteller contributors. (n.d.). Van aardmannetje tot zwarte juffer: Een lijst van Nederlandse en Vlaamse elfen en geesten. In Abe de Verteller, from https://abedeverteller.nl/van-aardmannetje-tot-zwarte-juffer-een-lijst-van-nederlandse-en-vlaamse-elfen-en-geesten/
In Slavic mythology, Lugovichok is known as the spirit of the meadows. He is described as a small green man, clothed in grass and vegetation, and is considered one of the children of the field worker, a spirit connected with cultivated land and agricultural labor.
Lugovichok is believed to move swiftly through the meadows, catching birds and bringing them as food to his parent. During haymaking, he may secretly help people, ensuring that the work goes smoothly when it is done properly and at the right time.
However, Lugovichok is easily angered by neglect or improper behavior. When people delay mowing or fail to tend the meadow correctly, he may cause the grass to grow wildly and become tangled, braiding it so tightly that it cannot be cut or torn. In some cases, he is said to dry the grass at the root, ruining the hay altogether. If mowers arrive at the wrong time, Lugovichok can dull their scythes instantly or even break them completely, bringing work to a halt.
The name “Lugovichok” itself is rare and is recorded mainly in northwestern Russia. In other regions, related beliefs appear under different names. Peasants in the Tula province, for example, believed in shaggy meadow beings—alongside the field-goose and well-goose—who lived underground in burrows and emerged only at midday and just before sunset. At these times, such beings were considered dangerous and were thought capable of bringing illness or fever to humans.
Through these beliefs, Lugovichok represents both the helpful and harmful forces of the meadow—rewarding proper care and timing, but punishing neglect, impatience, or disrespect toward the land.
Bzionek is a guardian spirit known in Silesian superstition, believed to protect villages from evil spells and misfortune. It was imagined in the form of a small man who lived beneath or within elder bushes, especially the black elder growing close to human dwellings. From this association, the spirit took its name.
Because the bzionek was thought to dwell in elder bushes, these plants were treated with great reverence. Cutting them down, digging them up, or burning elder wood in an oven was strictly forbidden, as such acts might offend the spirit and bring harm upon the household or village.
Certain customs were connected to the elder bush and the bzionek. After washing the body of a deceased person, people would pour the used water beneath the elder bush to avert misfortune. In moments of desperation, when a baby was gravely ill, the child might be brought beneath the bush so that the bzionek could drive away the sickness.
The bzionek was not feared as a malicious being, but respected as a quiet protector whose presence demanded careful behavior. Through the elder bush, it stood as a silent guardian between the human world and unseen dangers.
