This is episode is part of my Folklore Friday series where I am sharing a Folklore story every Friday in 2024.

In the heart of Icelandic folklore, there exists a strange and eerie creature known as the *tilberi* in the north and the *snakkur* in the south and west.

This mystical being is said to be the creation of witches, conjured specifically to steal milk from the farms of others. Only women have the knowledge and ability to summon and control this creature, using it to enrich their own dairy supplies.

Though the origins of the tilberi stretch back into the misty past, tales of it weren’t written down until the 17th century. Yet, one account from that time recalls a witch being punished in the year 1500 for possessing one. 

The ritual to create a tilberi is both chilling and secretive. At dawn on Whitsunday, a woman must steal a rib from a freshly buried body. She then wraps this rib in grey wool—wool that must also be stolen, plucked from a widow’s sheep just after it has been sheared.

For the next three Sundays, at the communion table, she spits sanctified wine onto the bundle, slowly bringing it to life with each ritual. Finally, to complete the creature’s birth, she lets it suckle from the inside of her thigh, leaving a wart-like mark as a permanent reminder of the dark deed.

Once created, the tilberi becomes an insatiable thief. The witch can send it out to steal milk from the cows and ewes of neighboring farms. 

The creature, able to stretch itself, leaps onto the back of its target, wrapping itself around the animal to suck from one or even two teats at once. When it returns to its mistress, it perches at her dairy window and cries out, “Full belly, Mummy!” or “Churn lid off, Mummy!” before vomiting the stolen milk into her butter churn. 

However, milk stolen by a tilberi bears a curse of its own. When churned, the butter forms curdled clumps or even melts into foam if a cross is made over it or a magical symbol, called the smjörhnútur (butterknot), is drawn into the mixture.

Farmers, plagued by udder infections and other signs of a tilberi’s presence, would protect their animals by making the sign of the cross beneath the cow’s udder or laying a Psalter on its spine. Though the tilberi was lightning-fast, if caught or pursued, it would flee back to its witch, hiding beneath her skirts.

But there was a way to stop the creature and its master. A brave soul could sew shut the petticoat of the witch, trapping both her and her creation. Then, they would meet a grim fate, either burned or drowned together, ending the dark magic for good.

This legend serves as a chilling reminder of the power of superstition and the mysterious bond between the witches of old and their strange creations.

If the woman who created the creature has a child of her own, a nightmare scenario unfolds. Should the tilberi, always hungry for milk, find its way to her breast, the consequences are dire—it may suck her dry, leading to her death.

Ridding oneself of this creature, however, comes with its own perilous ritual. To banish a *tilberi*, the woman must send it on an impossible task. She orders the creature to climb the mountain and gather every lamb’s dropping from the vast common pastures. In some versions of the tale, the tilberi is told to sort them into three piles, or collect all the droppings from three separate fields.

But the number three is the tilberi’s undoing. Being an evil creature, it cannot endure the power of this sacred number. As it toils endlessly, trying to complete the task, it either works itself to death or succumbs to the mystical force of three. In the end, only the human bone that gave it life remains, lying abandoned in the pasture, marking the creature’s demise and freeing its maker from a dark and deadly bond.

I will have some images of a Tilberi in the notes of this episode on All Things Iceland. If you want to see a model of one in person then I recommend visiting the Sorcery and Witchcraft Museum in Hólmavík in the Westfjords. 

Tilberi – carrier 

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