It's hard not to love Italy.
I could talk about the Roman Empire, the influence of Christianity, the Renaissance, and how the world has been shaped by Greco-Roman history. But I don't think that's why anyone is here, and it isn't something that could be eloquently summed up in a short piece of writing. Instead, I wanted to share some of my experiences of this wonderful country before we dive into what I am actually qualified to talk about - Mythical Beasts. Italy, as you would expect with all it's history, has a staggering amount of myths and folklore and we can only scrape the surface here. Hopefully, it can point you towards your own discoveries.
My first trip to Italy was when I was a young street artist, making a tiny bit of a reputation for myself on the live art circuit. Back in the mid-naughties and early 2010s, organisations had artists come and create large murals in clubs, at brand launches, etc., and it was considered quite novel. Seeing a street artist perform now is absolutely commonplace, both safe and sanitised. It's arguable whether this is a good thing or not; I can see both sides, but it is undeniably a different beast than it was. But anyway, one of my first "business trips," and I use inverted commas because a 20-year-old me getting flown to an exciting historic city with a good buddy, sponsored by a rum brand, and getting to paint a mural did not seem like work at the time, but rather some kind of rum-induced fever dream. When we weren't painting, we had the time to indulge in the food, the culture, the history, the art, and boy did we feast on it. It was such a wonderful formative experience, and I fell a bit in love with Rome, as so many do.
Another of my favourite trips was further south for a family wedding in Naples. We stayed in Sorrento, and it was a little slice of paradise, with warm balmy evenings drinking wine, watching the little lizards run around the fruit trees, days swimming in beautiful water off the coast of Amalfi, marvelling at Pompeii, eating glorious food, and drinking orange juice so tasty I crave it to this day. But the thing that stood out for me was the wedding. After a sweltering walk in a stuffy polyester shirt through an Italian heatwave, reducing me to something resembling a lasagne in cling film fished from the bottom of a swimming pool, a few of the previously mentioned orange juices helped me to reconstitute myself into something resembling a human, and from there the day became truly special. I believe it's a great honour to experience the traditions of another culture as a welcomed guest, and given 90 per cent of an Italian wedding seemed to be seeing just how much delicious food they can get you to eat, I was a happy man. Everything was going well, and I was tucking into a mozzarella the size of a small melon when the singer who was serenading us as we ate decided it was time for the ever-popular crowd participation section. Inevitably, a microphone appears next to my face for a "fun" rendition of the Neapolitan classic "Funiculì, Funiculà." Being a socially awkward person, whose few attempts at singing in life were met with immediate remarks of "you should never do that again," and having a mouthful of cheese, I wasn't quite prepared for this level of social trauma. I tried every awkward English gesture for "I don't know the words," and tried to signal through desperate telepathy to *please God find someone else*, but unfortunately, he was a "helpful" soul who had decided I would absolutely sing "Funiculì, Funiculà" and all of it, not just one call and response. I think this went on for 10 days; it felt like it at least, but eventually, I was released from the bard's dark magic and was able to engage in something I am way more familiar with—comfort eating.
So there we have two of my favourite ever trips. It feels strange to write so much about my own experience rather than focusing on Italy itself. What stands out for me when I think about Italy is its everyday wonderfulness—the joy its cuisine brings the world, its impact on art, and society and how many people have their own wonderful stories to tell from their time there. It’s extremely difficult to have a bad trip to Italy.
So let me share with you a few stories from this glorious land.
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Anguane
Oh lordy, I hate starting with a messy one — it makes finding the flow tricky from the start. The Anguane/Anguana go by a few different names and have even more conflicting descriptions, which are often wildly opposed. Yet somehow, they remain the same being.
The only constant is that they’re some kind of water nymph — that’s about the only thing agreed upon. In some stories, they’re benevolent, foretelling the future, bestowing fertility, or simply joining in with a local dance. In others, they’re sinister, child-snatching monsters or temptresses luring lusty men to their doom. They seem to be a blend of nymph, fairy, huldra, witch, seer, and the eerie washerwomen of north European folklore.
Now, you might think this means that I didn’t find them interesting. Quite the opposite. They’re an enigmatic creature, and the sheer variety of stories makes them compelling. But summarising them in just a couple of paragraphs? That’s the tricky part.
Augurielli
Italy is jam-packed with little house spirits — every province has at least one, and usually way more. In Calabria, there is the Augurielli, a small chap who wears the ubiquitous red cap that is the must-have accessory for any diminutive being wishing to take up residence in someone else's house.
"Honey, there's some small hairy, hoofed fella at the door."
"Send him away then."
"But he has this adorable little red hat on."
"Fair play, that is a very cute hat, makes him look trustworthy. Go on then, come on in, fella."
He is described as short and fat, with curly hair, the aforementioned cap, and horse feet, so he's quite the charmer. Maybe my only regret in making this map is not illustrating him with a gold chain poking out of a mess of chest hair.
The Augurielli could bring great luck to a house and others fortunate enough to meet them. They grow fiercely attached to their adopted family, so if the house acquires new tenants, they will be subjected to a whole array of pranks and mishaps. Fortunately, the Augurielli are a bit like a magpie or small child, attracted to anything glittery, and can be appeased with pretty much any shiny bit of rubbish, which they will immediately add to their hidden stash. If you ever discover this stash, it is worth looking to see if you’ve found anything of tremendous value or if you've just got some bits of glass and tin foil stuffed in your wall cavities.
Badalischio
The Badalischio is a particularly deadly critter from the Casentino forests, and has been described in various ways, combining elements of both basilisks and cockatrices. It can paralyse with its red eyes and has breath poisonous enough to kill vegetation. One unique feature, as far as I know, is that it's wrapped in bandages. I have no idea why, and would love to learn if anyone knows — maybe they’re accident-prone, or maybe there’s some kind of shoddy Badalischio hospital out there.
They are also said to wear a crown or diadem at times, covering their eyes, which is similar to the French Vouivre. Presumably, if you can get past the poisonous breath and manage to pinch the crown, you’ll be due some kind of reward. But hey, it can’t be any worse than being second in line for the bathroom, and seeing Dad emerge waving a newspaper after a particularly hearty breakfast.
Borda
Like a lot of Italian beings, you can find the Borda in other regions under slightly different names. She is described as a blindfolded witch/bogeyman (bogeyperson?) who emerges out of the fog in the time-honoured tradition of traumatising kids into doing what you'd like them to do. She even has a darling little song:
"Lullaby, the Borda
binds beautiful children with a rope.
With a rope and a cord,
binds the beautiful children and then holds them,
with a rope and a string,
binds the beautiful children and then kills them."
Dayum! I’m sure that’ll help a child get off to sleep — god damn! I’d never sleep again. Thanks, Mum! Shall I just send you the counselling bill, or do you want to set up a direct debit?
Charybdis
One half of the famous Greek double act of "Scylla and Charybdis," but we'll do them individually to give them equal credit - in this case, giving Charybdis the chance to go first since we’re going alphabetically. "Finally, it’s old Charybdis' time to shine."
It's where we get the saying "between Scylla and Charybdis" (obviously), which refers to being stuck between two equally terrible options, like renting and mortgages, the working week or poverty - and if you want to relate this to the state of recent elections, you go right ahead. Other forms of this saying that have developed are "between a rock and a hard place" or "between the devil and the deep blue sea." I don't know which came first, but if I were a betting man, I'd guess the ancient Greek one. Interestingly, the other two both contain visual themes of Scylla and Charybdis (rock and sea).
There are a few origins for Charybdis, but they all agree she was a woman who incurred the wrath of Zeus. The stories say that she either assisted her dad (Poseidon) in his feud with Zeus by flooding the lands, or that she was always a bit peckish and her appetites crossed a line when she stole an ox from Hercules. Either way, Zeus - who's never been one for turning the other cheek, or for proportionate responses - hurls a lightning bolt at her, sending her to the bottom of the sea.
From her more aquatic environment, she either becomes a sea monster or stays human(ish). But she does conjure mighty whirlpools to wreck ships. She is mentioned in all the Greek top hits: The Odyssey, Jason and the Argonauts, The Aeneid, and Aesop. Bangers.
Caddos Birdes
Sardinia is such a dense region for folklore, that I could likely create a map just for it. One of the tales speaks of the Caddos Birdes—enigmatic and magical little green horses. Both slightly feared and adored, they have a great number of traits and stories attached to them. Some traits include (but are not limited to) helping plants and trees grow, being almost impossible to spot, being witch-cursed, and only to be ridden by a king.
I certainly agree they are enigmatic, and I absolutely want to know more. Unfortunately, finding more complete stories in English is hard, and Google Translate will only get you so far.
Doñas de fuera
I try to stay away from anything witch-like on the maps, as we all know they were just persecuted women and that is a tragic part of human history. The Doñas de fuera did seem to play a part in the Italian witch trials, though they are traditionally more closely associated with what we would call faeries (if you would call them that at all, and we know you don’t call them that — certainly not out loud). Doñas de fuera roughly translates as "ladies from the outside," which I think is a great term for some of the fair folk.
They would abduct people with "sweet blood" (creepy) and fly them on the backs of magical goats (it had to be magical goats; the unmagical ones barely got a few feet from the cliff) to Benevento, a magical and, more importantly, witchy/demonic area that pops up in various Italian folklore. Interestingly, Benevento is an actual place with a long and perfectly normal history. Usually, these places in other countries are more of a magical island or realm that you can't really get to unless you are part of a folkloric story. They certainly don’t have train stations and tourist information points.
Drago di Atessa
Firstly, I was astounded by the amount of dragon stories in Italy. I expected a couple, but they had tons! I am very partial to a dragon story; to me, they are the quintessential mythical beast. It’s a good old-fashioned brawl between good and evil, and they normally contain some thinly veiled morality metaphor *chef's kiss*. Who needs it to do more?
One tale tells of two cities that were separated by a ferocious dragon, until along comes the inevitable holy man (well, it’s either that or a knight, right?). In this story, it is a bishop, not even a saint - clearly we are dealing with a lower-tier dragon. The bishop proceeds to feed the dragon meat non-stop for three days, until, like anyone a few hours into gorging at a BBQ, he becomes a bit more docile and snoozy. The dragon is chained up and killed seven days later. Why they waited seven days when it was already chained up and woozy with the meat sweats I don’t know; most likely due to something churchy. It seems cruel and risky to me.
Anyway, after the dragon is dead, the two towns can now unite, and they celebrate their new union by draining the dragon of its blood and drinking it like it’s some kind of grisly protein shake. The new neighbours are a bit weird. It’s OK, we’re weird too.
Eismandl
Once, a young shepherd was heading over the Giogo Basso Glacier when a great and deadly blizzard blocked his path. No hope was in sight, and he embraced his imminent demise when, out of the sheet of white, stepped a small frosty-looking figure - the Eismandl.
The Eismandl looked at the young shepherd and asked,
“Will you keep your faith and honour your promises for the rest of your days?”
“What? What are you talking about? Why are you out here in a blizzard asking obscure morality questions like a frosty Socrates?”
“Do you?”
“Well, I guess, given we're about to die in a blizzard, I can't see it being a problem.”
The sky cleared, the storm abated, and the Eismandl gave a smile before shuffling on his way. The young shepherd, full of the euphoria of a man who had narrowly escaped death, did what any of us do when confronted with our mortality: he started making sweeping life changes and vague promises to himself, the universe, and God. He decided life was too short and that he would marry that lovely girl, Martha. I think we all know immediately which promise he is going to break. And yes, ultimately his attention is drawn by the wealthy daughter of a neighbouring farmer. When Martha found out, she pleaded for him to stay, and when he left, she cursed him.
Life went on pretty nicely for the selfish young shepherd boy but, as so rarely happens in life, he was about to get some cool, crisp karma. One day, he and his new family decided to visit a relative in Austria and would have to pass over the Giogo Basso Glacier. Everyone else would avoid that area forever, but I guess doing whatever he pleased and receiving no comeuppance had given the shepherd a false sense of confidence. As they reached the exact same spot where he had almost died all those years ago, an enormous blizzard appeared from nowhere. Clinging to his new wife, they met a chilly end, all overlooked by fair Martha, to whom the Eismandl had appeared in a dream.
Unfortunately for Martha, blizzards aren't hyper-localised, and she also froze to death, though the Eismandl did carry her down to the church and give her a proper burial. So that’s something. Cold comfort.
Erchitu
Another top-shelf one from Sardinia. Calling it a were-cow would be a bit reductive, but yes, it’s a were-cow! An Erchitu is a man who has sinned greatly or committed a horrible crime, which pretty much goes hand in hand. The sinner is cursed to painfully transform into a white ox every full moon, where it wanders the countryside, being prodded by pitchfork-wielding devils (a bit cliché). On its horns are lit candles; if a soul is brave enough to extinguish them, the curse will be broken.
But were-cows sound kind of dangerous and, even if you do extinguish the candles, the person has committed some heinous acts, so you’ve got to ask yourself: "Is it worth it?" Probably not.
Giosalpino
I think my favourite Italian mythical beast is the Giosalpino, a goblin with the curious trait of disguising itself as a piece of paper. It could be that wrapper blowing down the street or that shifty-looking Post-it note by your desk. When did you last buy Post-it notes?
Walking home one day, two brothers saw a piece of paper in the gutter. One brother turned to the other and warned him not to bother it as it could be the dreaded goblin. To make fun of his brother's mad theories, he went over to the paper and gave it a kick. The Giosalpino then transformed and chose violence, throwing the offending brother into a ditch. Presumably, he didn't survive, as it is said the surviving brother awoke the next day totally bald.
It is also fond of messing with sailors and people who tie up their boats to the wrong mooring pole, who will come back to find their boats floating away.
Janas
Closely associated with strange and fascinating rocks all around Sardinia, the "Domus de Janas" (fairy houses) are actually burial tombs dating back around 5,000 years, containing internal rooms excavated by stone picks. They are truly fascinating and well worth a Google, but I won't be getting into them here. Suffice it to say that they were not built by fairies, and thus will play no further role here.
The Janas are diminutive fairies that supposedly (but didn't) live in these Domus de Janas. About the size of a 9-year-old's thumb (weirdly specific), they like to wear red and lead a life similar to the more warped image that fairies have taken on in recent years, except they still don't have wings. They spend their days weaving on their magical golden looms, tending gardens, trading with villagers, looking peacefully over sleeping babes, showering riches on the deserving, and occasionally beating a horrid goblin who absolutely had it coming.
Landoro
At a time before boats existed, there lived a girl known as Lada, who dreamed of being able to fly over the vast sea. One day, rather surprisingly, she got her dream and sprouted wings. Flying over the sea, she felt elation and joy - right until she saw Landoro, a gigantic fire-breathing sea serpent. Its gigantic yellow eyes seemed to hypnotise her and pull her in. She was both terrified and intrigued, but her good sense prevailed, and she flew back to the beach.
As she sat on the beach, she lamented that she would never safely cross the sea. This is when a strange boy turned up and said, “Don’t cry.” I mean, I’m sad; I’m allowed emotions. I am going to feel and experience them if that’s quite OK with you, you invalidating git. After the initial emotion-belittling gambit, he introduced himself as Geri and, in fantasy book styling, added in his parental lineage: “son of Oak and Wind.” Sounds like a boat; I think he might metaphorically be a boat. He said, “Gee, if only I had wings, I reckon I could kick that dragon’s ass, maybe knife it up a bit with this here knife. Let us have a go on your wings.”
Lada lent her wings to Geri, because apparently, they are detachable. But anyway, Geri appeared a bit later, victorious; he really did just manage to stab a sea monster to death.
Victory was extremely short-lived, as the blood pouring from the serpent killed all the fish in the area, and then poisonous gases released from its stanking corpse kill everyone and everything along the coast, including Geri and Lada. Nice one, Geri.
Leucasia
The town of Santa Maria di Leuca is said to have derived its name from the holy mother Mary, as well as from an ancient Greek mermaid called Leucasia. For our purposes, we are more interested in the latter here; the town has had its myth attached since at least the 17th century, though apparently, a poem written in the '90s is the story people tend to refer to as the myth. I have been unable to find a copy of the original myth, mainly, I assume, due to my own limits in how deep I can dive into things in another language. Or, simply, it may be that this myth has become lost, or that the poem is quite close to the original, so it has kind of taken over. It certainly has all the hallmarks of an ancient Greek story: betrayal, metamorphosis, godly intervention, and a bit of tragedy. And in lieu of the original, we may as well talk about that here.
It tells of a beautiful mermaid called Leucasia, who had fallen in love with a shepherd boy. She would watch him cross the beach each day, dreaming of the day he would be hers. Eventually, she had to shoot her shot, and instead of deploying the usual "Do you come here often?" line, she decided to use her cheat code as a siren and utilise her song to bewitch and entrance the fellow. But the strangest of thing happened: nothing. The boy was immune to her siren song - how could this be? Well, the boy's heart belonged to another, so her siren song had no effect. And oh, how this enraged her! She did not take it well at all, she quietly seethed and began scheming revenge. Now, I'm sure a lot of us know unrequited love can sting, but damn, Leucasia, he's just not that into you, and that is fine and allowed; there is absolutely no need to go steepling fingers and plotting.
She waited for the day the young couple came to the seafront together, and when that fateful day arrived, she thrashed her two tails, whipping up such a fierce storm that the two were swept into the sea and drowned. Not a proportional response.
The goddess Minerva saw it all going down and took a bizarre form of mercy, turning the two young lovers into immortal stone, and Leucasia into the white cliff faces. It raises some odd questions about Minerva's actions that day. Why did she choose not to intervene sooner? Is being a lump of rock forever a great mercy? Why did the victims and the aggressor receive identical treatment? Very strange, very Greek myth.
Lupa
So, "Lupa" is basically "she-wolf," but in this instance, it refers to the Lupa responsible for nurturing Romulus and Remus, who would go on to found Rome. As recent studies and TikTok trends have shown, men think about Ancient Rome a bizarre amount, so Lupa seemed a great inclusion for the map, as no Lupa may well mean no Rome. I adore the famous Capitoline Wolf sculpture, and my drawing was initially going to echo that iconic silhouette; however, at this scale, Romulus and Remus were too small. I would still like to draw that sculpture one day, maybe as a painting in its own right.
Lupumanare
Italy has many werewolf myths with different regional spellings; I have chosen this one as I feel its setting is a bit more intriguing. There is a village in Italy where people don't speak its name, like an architectural Voldemort. Neighbouring villages and towns simply refer to the place as "that village," and if they hear its name, they will rub wood to cancel out the bad juju. Get your piece of wood ready, Italians, because I think some people will want to look this up. Got your wood? Good. Right, the village is called Colobraro, and it is reported to be one of the most unlucky places on the planet.
It is said that it has been cursed since its very first day, but a lot of stories seem to come to life following an incident in the 1950s when an undefeated lawyer baldly said in court, "If I'm lying, may the chandelier fall down." And because in all stories, lawyers are fundamentally untrustworthy, the chandelier inevitably came crashing down, sealing the town's fate and amplifying the hex. Since then, the village has been said to be under the control of dark wizards, witches, werewolves, and other non-desirables beginning with "w" - generally just bad vibes galore.
The Lupumanare is similar to many werewolves, with the whole turning into a wolf under the full moon thing; however, his curse is caused by having the sheer audacity to be born on Christmas at midnight - that's Jesus's night you stay where you are till the morrow! This seems massively unfair to punish a poor kid for the rest of his life for something he had no control over. Mercifully, the curse can be lifted by pricking him with a pin; releasing a small amount of blood allows the man to transform back. I couldn't find out if this breaks the curse for good or if this is an every-full-moon type deal. I think finding someone to square up to a werewolf with the contents of a sewing kit is going to be a lucky find (in a place not known for luck), and getting someone to do it monthly is improbable.
Manteillons
The Manteillons are basically just a massive nuisance. Described as night goblins that wear long "mantles" to disguise the fact they have no legs, and in some cases have bat-like features, they are associated with causing chaos at nighttime and sound like every teenage lad's sleepover in the 90s and early noughties. The "before times" - and by "before times," we essentially mean before mobile phones - where you had to "make your own fun" - and also by "make your own fun," we actually mean being about as big a pain in the arse as you can be before the police get involved.
Their absolute favourite trick is to rip the covers off someone sleeping and give them a slap. They also enjoy telling terrible jokes and go on to commit small-scale acts of vandalism. Again, I have to question whether this is just a teenage boys' sleepover; I think I knew at least one Manteillon in high school.
Marmotte Bellino
An absolutely absurd one, which I had to include even though it is kind of "off-brand," and people may have preferred to see a beast with a little more pedigree for that area. Still, I like a bit of silliness in these things, and I hope you do too, because these are basically straight out of a comic book.
In 1576, a meteorite crashed in Bellino, showering fragments all over the region. Understandably, this was a shocking event for locals, but life went on, except they realised over time that the marmots were acting a little bit strange. The marmots had begun to act friendlier, inviting themselves into people's houses, but they also grew cheekier and took to stealing goods (particularly the wine). The really weird thing was that they had somehow learned how to fly.
It sounds mad, but the area did draw interest from professionals who would come to try to study them and collect testimonies from the locals. So, were the marmots some kind of extraterrestrial squirrels? Or had the meteorite granted them some Marvel-like origin story? Either way, it's gloriously daft, and I'm here for it.
Monaciello
Naples' own "little monk," the Monaciello looks exactly like his name would suggest and fulfils a role similar to household spirits like brownies, but with a slightly more holy vibe. However, his behaviour, like that of other house spirits, isn't always the most pious. He is said to be a caretaker (or linked in other ways) to the vast underground warren of passages and waterways that lie beneath Naples. He knows this maze fluently and uses it to his advantage, engaging in such devout practices as stealing valuables and bothering housewives. Despite this, the Monaciello is regarded as a benevolent and cherished figure. More commonly, he would turn up at a random person's house and expect to be fed and looked after. If he was, he would quite often shower them with riches. He is known for being very charitable, often giving to those in need and helping those lost within the city.
Mostro del Acque Nere
Venice is one of the world's most iconic bodies of water, so of course, it was going to have its own legendary creature hiding in its depths. In fact, it has a few, but the one I chose to illustrate was the Mostro delle Acque Nere - the monster of the black water. What a great name! Said to be a shiny black sea snake-like monster with razor-sharp teeth, it hides in the dark waters of the Punta della Dogana. While described in its latest sighting (1930s) as a demure 8 yards long, it is still large enough to eat a seagull in one bite, and pose a threat to fishermen in their boats. It’s a pretty goth sea serpent, not only due to its name but also because it only appears on a moonless night.
Mostro del Lago Fucino
The monster of Lake Fucino has Nessie beaten by a good two centuries! Once Italy's third-largest lake, Lake Fucino was drained long ago, but accounts of its oddities date back thousands of years, with even your boy Pliny the Elder remarking, "That place is messed up."
The lake was notorious for its treacherous features: a rocky bottom, whirlpools, and dramatically changing depths led to frequent shipwrecks. There are even reports of biblical swarms of lizards! Many of these eerie characteristics became linked to a fearsome draconic monster, what else were boat owners going to tell the insurance company? They couldn't admit they'd simply sailed into a big rock - not again, not after last time.
Mostro di Pentolina
A strange monster lurks in the Pentolina Forest, described as having the body of a serpent with a human head. Delightful! Accounts of this eerie creature date back to the 1300s. At one point, the forest was devastated by a massive fire, and locals reported hearing terrible shrieks coming from the woods. In more recent times, sightings of the monster have resurfaced, leading many to believe it may have returned.
Nanni Orcu
I have wondered if this is where we get the LOTR-style Orc. Italy is the first country I have encountered with anything called an Orc, though it translates more as Ogre, and this certainly fits the description of a giant humanoid man-eating thing. Beowulf mentions "orcneas," but the translation is closer to "evil spirit" or something like that. It seems the term Orc was somewhat invented by Tolkien and is a bit of a mash-up of existing mythical beasts, being somewhere between a goblin and an ogre. And I'm noticing I've ended up thinking out loud rather than actually saying what this is; though inadvertently, we have pretty much covered it: Nanni Orcu is an Ogre, a particularly ugly and hairy one who steals and eats women and children.
Polpo di Tellaro
This one is a straightforward but unique bit of folklore that tells of an octopus that climbed out of the sea to ring the church bells, warning locals about an inbound pirate raid. Given the advanced warning, the locals were able to prepare themselves and repel the pirates. The octopus has become a symbol of the town and, apparently, a famous local dish, which seems an unfitting tribute to their saviour. I also thought far too much about how an octopus would make a good bell-ringer, having the right amount of limbs to play a full octave.
Scylla
We follow up with the other half of our famous duo, "Scylla and Charybdis."And if you had decided to avoid the deadly whirlpools of Charybdis, you would now have to sail dangerously close to Scylla. This is exactly what Circe suggested Odysseus do on his famous jaunt, saying it is far better to lose a few men to Scylla than to have the entire ship and crew go down trying to get past Charybdis. Certainly a hard decision for upper management.
Scylla was once a beautiful naiad who drew the attention of a god and ultimately incurred the jealous wrath of one of their suitors (either Poseidon and Amphitrite or Glaucus and Circe). In either case, the jealous partner decided to poison the waters where Scylla bathed, transforming her into a man-eating monster.
She is described in all manner of ways in different texts, so you can likely do a pick-and-mix approach and draw something quite horrible. Here are some of the descriptions of Scylla: crab-like shell, twelve feet, six necks with menacing heads, three rows of teeth, twelve tentacles for her legs, six dog heads on her waist, and a cat tail. So, lots of fun to be had piecing together your version of Scylla.
Sibilla Appenninica
Legend has it that the Sibyl (or Sibilla) is a sorceress, enchantress, and fortune teller, ruling over a magical underground world that can be reached through a cave at the top of the Sibilla mountains. Though demonised in later accounts, she’s traditionally more like a faerie queen.
The Sibyl spends her days with her attendants, said to be the most beautiful maidens—aside from the all-too-common folklore feature: goat feet. These assistants love heading down to nearby villages to dance with shepherds or teach the local girls a bit of spinning and weaving.
There’s also a tale where the Sibyl caused an earthquake after her attendants stayed out past curfew, dancing too long in the village. The town was reduced to rubble—mums do get angry when you stay out past curfew. Or maybe she was just sick of the noisy neighbours; I’ve certainly wished doom on people making a racket late at night.
Sirena
The eternal debate around what a siren looks like - is it a mermaid or is it a harpy-esque creature? Well, I think both are valid. It is an old myth and over the span of history there has been plenty of time to create a litany of stories expressing both. The bird type is certainly the oldest which gives it some pedigree, but it has absolutely been dwarfed by a considerable margin by mermaids. Truth be told, I'm good with both, and it seems the people of Naples agree as it is an area with a long history of Sirens, most notably Parthenope of "The Odyssey" fame who was said to have washed up here after failing to entrance Odysseus. Another tale says she was being pursued by an amorous minotaur called Vesuvius, when Jupiter changed Vesuvius into a volcano and Parthenope into the city of Naples. Greek myth is wild with changing people into things; someone should write a book about that. Regardless it seems like Naples is equally on the fence between fish or bird as you will see statues and representations in both forms around the city.
Tanna e Crodères
In the Marmarole mountains lived the Crodères: beings with the emotional intelligence of a brick, uncaring, unloving - though their hearts were made quite literally of stone so this is understandable. Their queen Tanna was not like them; she had a heart that beat with warmth and love, a rare trait among her chilly subjects. She used her powers to nurture life in the harsh mountains, and to protect the humans below, a truly benevolent figure set in a harsh world. Most importantly, she was able to rein in the more destructive tendencies of the Crodères and the perils of the mountains.
Tanna became increasingly aware that her life with the Crodères was emotionally unfulfilling, and became smitten with a dashing prince from a village below the mountains. She eventually decided to leave her frosty kingdom for a life of warmth and romance. However, the Crodères, despite apparently not feeling anything, did seem to be able to get a rough grasp on jealousy and rage. Like a child denied that thing they so desperately wanted, there was going to be a tantrum, and you could bet your bottom dollar it was going to be everyone's problem now.
Tanna had started a family in her new kingdom and had even had a son; now fully grown, he wanted to do what so many young princes do and "prove himself." The stories are confusing as to why he was up in the mountains, maybe some show of manliness, or fleeing from enemies, but either way, the mountains without Tanna there to control them were a wild place, and he ultimately falls to his demise down a crevasse. His wife then decides to follow suit and throws herself into the same crevasse.
With the deaths of her son and his bride, Tanna for some reason decides to reclaim her icy throne, maybe hoping to bring some warmth back to her people, maybe to subdue them. But unfortunately, the Crodères were in no mood and began tantruming and unleashing avalanches. There is one day a year when the mountains aren't a snowy deathtrap - the annual "day of silence," when everything calms down and pauses for a moment of reflection, where Tanna mourns her losses and feels her emotions, before returning to her bleak duties.
That is the story in a nutshell, and I like parts of it, but I find it extremely frustrating. The accounts give different motivations for the characters' actions, but why things get worse when she goes back to the mountains seems strange; the Crodères get what they want but act more violently than ever. Or why Tanna would choose to stay there, amongst the chaos, maybe it is some sense of sacrifice or duty, maybe she is trying to rein the Crodères back in a bit. It just seems to me it goes from bad to worse and never finds any resolution. But maybe that's just life.
Tarantasio
Despite having a name that sounds like a trashy romance novel, Tarantasio was actually a big, horrid dragon that lived in the vast stagnant waters of Lake Gerundo. In keeping with the general vibe of the area, Tarantasio would spread terrible pestilence, wreck boats, and eat children from the locale. Eventually killed by "someone" (sources disagree), Lake Gerundo was drained, and he may well be simply a metaphor for making an inhospitable place fertile. Lake Gerundo disappeared around the 13th century, which is when we get this tale, so it does seem fitting.
Torro Rosso di Torino
Things get very confusing when looking into the bull folklore of Turin. For one, there are several of them, and they appear in different colours and sizes - so no matter which I go for, someone will most likely say it is the wrong colour. My favourite is the story of the bull and the wine. The story starts with a populace being terrorised by a dragon who, in dragon society, could rightly be called *basic* - engaging in cliché dragon behaviour such as eating cattle, burning stuff down, and munching the occasional villager.
The villagers ultimately realise this does nothing for the property values, so they decided to do something about it. This is the point where a knight usually rocks up, or a burgeoning saint would appear, but despite staring at their watches, kicking the dirt, and making awkward eye-rolling glances at each other, none had shown up. They realised they were going to have to sort this problem themselves. And that's what they did. Working as individuals or as teams, they embarked on employing every tactic at their disposal to defeat the beast. I like to imagine this as a Wile E. Coyote / Road Runner series of sketches resulting in boulders falling in the wrong place squishing villagers, cave entrances being painted on solid rocks, and ultimately villagers holding up little wooden signs saying things like "yikes" and "help." Please, someone make this.
Having been thwarted at every step, they retired back to town, and I like to envision the next part playing out like this: they head to the bar, and whilst stood outside in the designated smoking area, nursing the day's wounds, they have a chat.
"Man, I think we nearly had him today!"
"Nah man, not close. I dunno, I'm a bit over this; I think I’ll give in."
"Give in? Give in! What are you talking about? You're one of the best schemers I know; you can't give up! We can do this, mate!"
"I dunno man, we've been trying for months now, we're all knackered and bruised. Flavio lost an arm last week, and old man Rossi has to be carried about in a wheelbarrow now, look at the state of him"
"I hear you, I hear you. But... But......What's all that noise about?!"
"Oh, it's Farmer Greco's bull on the loose again."
"Man, he's a horrid jerk of a thing, isn't he? Just kicking the heck out of those crates and smashing up fences."
"Aye, I think I'd rather fight the dragon."
At that point, two other men fall out of a neighbouring bar, fighting.
"Good lord, drink can be a terrible thing sometimes. Look at those two kicking the heck out of each other; they're such lovely men when they aren't drinking."
"Let's hope Farmer Greco's bull never gets on the drink."
They laugh heartily until the laughter stops and they slowly turn to look at each other, mouths wide open, and a brand new plan in both their heads.
The men deposit the bull in the woods near the dragon's cave and fill troughs with wine. When the dragon emerges, thinking his Just Eat order has turned up (other grease delivery systems are available), he is surprised to see that the heavily drunk bull is in the mood for a fight. So the two go at it until ultimately the dragon lies dead. The bull gets no chance to celebrate with another drink as he follows suit and dies from injuries sustained during the fight. Which is sad for the heroic bovine session head, but ultimately two problems solved in one plan for the villagers.
Some say Turin is named for this bull, but there seem to be multiple bull stories with different coloured bulls, as well as a people called the "Taurini" who lived in the area. I am no expert, and I could not say which is true, but I did enjoy the story.
Tummà
The Tummà is a goblin-like creature with a long nose who likes to hunt for treasure. He searched the land for many years for a long-lost hoard until he finally gave up and sat down, crying inconsolably. Where his tears fell, the ground became fertile, and olive trees sprouted, until a fairy turned up and gave him a handkerchief. After his meltdown, he decided to resume his hunt and found many treasure hoards. Sometimes you just need a good cry, or it could be the enchanted gift from a fairy—who is to know? To be honest, with the price of olive oil lately, he may have made more money if he was just left to cry and create some more olive groves.
It is said that if you steal his hanky, he will give you all his treasure to get it back — but that sounds like mean behaviour to me, and we can't endorse theft, bribery, or making mythical creatures cry. Usually, this doesn't play out well for the perpetrator either, so best not.
Typhon
The Daddy of all monsters, quite literally. A lot of famous Greek monsters are the offspring of Typhon and Echidna, and I was sad to not include them on the Ancient Greek map, but knew they would be better suited to here. One of the most common sites connected to Typhon is Mt Etna, where he is said to be imprisoned after a little falling out with Zeus when he challenged him for rule of the universe. There are a few different takes on the myths and locations for where Typhon is imprisoned, just like there are many different descriptions for him, all horrid and bonkers in equal measure.
Here are some descriptions of his physical traits, sources are usually a gumbo of these and function as a fun draw-a-mad-monster idea generator: snake or dragon heads growing from his shoulders, tall enough to brush the stars, flaming eyes, winged, snake tails for legs, somewhere between 1 and 200 heads, fire-breathing, a mass of tangled snakes, spewing poison and/or fire, snake fingers/hair, varying animal heads emitting horrendous noises, and many arms (similar to the hundred-armed giants, but could have 200). There's even more than that, but you get the idea—he's pretty monstrous.
U Sugghiù
A weird bestiary-style creature from Sicily, described as some kind of green scaly hybrid of mammal and reptile with a creepy human and mouse-like face and angry eyes. It emits an awful noise and has a stomach strong enough to digest rocks as a backup to its favourite snack which, as you probably guessed, is people. Some of the stories stretch back a fair while, and a leaflet from 1789 describes an attack on some fishermen by something very similar. It is said the leaflet could have been some kind of well-crafted joke, but sightings of U Sugghiù continue into recent times.
Varvuole
If you are lucky enough to be in Grado on the 5th of January, you may well see a pretty cool sight. Through the fog will emerge witches on little traditional boats, looking pretty creepy with their fiery eyes, wire-like hair, net cloaks, wooden legs, and sharp teeth, ready to loot and steal naughty children.
And if you think this is the usual traumatising of children into behaving gambit, you'd be wrong; it is to remember the days when the region was regularly pillaged by Uscocchi, who would wear similar attire such as metal mouth guards and wooden leg guards. The traumatising of kids is just a happy coincidence. I'm not sure which is the scariest — the pirates or the witches; either way, there has always been a supply of surprisingly affordable waterfront property in Grado.
Note: I have no clue about property prices in Grado, waterfront or otherwise.
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