Your mother-in-law lived to a respectable old age and has now, one hopes peacefully, departed this world. That, you might reasonably assume, is the end of your relationship. Old believes, however, leaves room for doubt. A late mother-in-law may still decide to linger, make her presence felt, or even haunt those she leaves behind. If you’d rather ensure her spirit rests in peace than spends eternity haunting you, this blog post is for you.
Fortunately, there is a remedy — one that is more than two thousand years old. It comes from the ancient terp dwellers, the people who built their homes on man-made mounds to stay above the floodwaters along the Wadden Sea coast, in what is now the region of Ostfriesland in Germany and the Dutch provinces of Friesland and Groningen. According to their beliefs, there was a simple way to prevent the dead from returning to haunt the living. Once you have read this blog post, you will never quite look at the landscape along the Wadden Sea coast — or while hiking the Frisia Coast Trail — in the same way again, and you may find yourself watching where you tread.
First of all, cremation is out of the question. In fact, only three cremation burials from this period have ever been identified in the salt-marsh regions of the northern Netherlands. During the Late Iron Age, the peoples living along the Wadden Sea coast generally did not bury or burn their dead immediately. Instead, the body was exposed on the tidal marshes, where it was left to scavengers, including foxes and, in many cases, their own dogs. These dogs — large animals kept in considerable numbers — appear to have played a central role in funerary ritual. Archaeological evidence suggests they acted as intermediaries between the world of the living and the dead (Nieuwhof 2015), echoing the wider symbolic role of their close relative, the wolf, which throughout northern Europe was long associated with death, the wilderness, and the boundary between worlds (Smeyers 2023).
Once the scavengers had stripped the body of its flesh, the remaining skeletal remains were gathered and finally committed to the earth. Archaeologists have recovered human bones from these settlements bearing characteristic gnaw marks, providing direct evidence that scavengers had fed on the corpses before burial. In some cases, however, not every bone was buried with the rest. A skull of your family member might be placed separately in the ground, for example beneath the corner of a house, perhaps to protect the household, to maintain a connection with the ancestors, or as part of a ritual now lost to us. Only after this final burial was the funeral considered complete.
The ancient funeral rites of the salt-marsh communities bear a striking resemblance to the sky burials still practised in Tibet today. There, vultures rather than dogs assume the task of stripping the body and releasing the spirit from its earthly remains. One notable difference, however, is that in Tibet the body is traditionally dismembered before exposure, making it easier for the birds to consume. Along the Wadden Sea coast, by contrast, we have no evidence that the dead were cut into pieces.
The similarity between these traditions may be more than mere coincidence. Like the Tibetans, the inhabitants of the ancient Wadden Sea salt marshes had little or no access to sufficient timber for cremation. The treeless, saline landscape was unsuitable for forests, fresh water was limited, and the sea regularly inundated the land. Faced with these harsh environmental conditions, they developed another way of returning the body to nature and releasing the soul from the flesh. Whether this reflects independent solutions to the same practical problem or something deeper, the parallels between these distant cultures are remarkable.
To complete the picture, archaeological research has produced strong evidence that these dogs were also ritually sacrificed. The feet and tail of the dog were carefully buried, while the remainder of the animal appears to have been ritually consumed by the community (Nieuwhof 2026). Since these same dogs had previously fed on the bodies of the dead, the practice may be regarded as a form of indirect cannibalism. At the same time, it was likely far more than that: perhaps a religious and spiritual ritual expressing an unbroken cycle of life and death, in which the dead nourished the dog, the dog nourished the living, and the boundary between both worlds was continually renewed. It may also have served to keep the spirit, strength, or vital essence of the deceased within the community.
INTERMEZZO
The Hounds of Hell — Numerous dog burials have been uncovered in the terp soils of the Wadden Sea coast, showing that these animals occupied a special place within the beliefs and rituals of the salt-marsh communities. Their size is particularly striking. The dogs buried in the terps of Hogebeintum and Oosterbeintum in the province of Friesland stood around 70 centimetres at the shoulder (see categories 2 and 3 below), making them exceptionally large for their time. Their closest modern counterpart is the Irish Wolfhound, which typically stands around 80 centimetres at the shoulder and was famously used to hunt wolves, even accompanying European colonists to North America in the seventeenth century for that purpose (Smeyers 2023).
These imposing Late Iron Age dogs bore little resemblance to the much smaller Frisian breeds familiar today, such as the curly-coated Wetterhoun (‘water hound’) (see image below) or the rarer Stabyhoun. Perhaps only their watchful eyes still hint at a distant common ancestry. Equally remarkable is the fact that these large dogs were buried in their own graves rather than alongside humans, a practice that is highly unusual when compared with contemporary and later European burial customs. Their importance is echoed centuries later in the late eighth-century Lex Frisionum, the Frisian law code, which distinguished no fewer than five categories of dogs, each with its own compensation tariff should the animal be killed. Such legal protection suggests that dogs were not merely working animals, but creatures of considerable social and economic value — and perhaps, as the archaeological evidence hints, of spiritual significance as well.
The five categories of dogs were: (1) a lap dog or barmbraccum ‘hunting dog’. Possibly ancestor of the havikshond or Münsterländer breeds; (2) a dog that kills wolves; (3) a dog that can wound wolves; (4) a guard dog for livestock, and; (5) a dog that does nothing but hanging around in the hall or on the farm. It is thought that the big dogs might also have played a role in warfare as battle dogs. Fines for killing these dogs were: 4 solidi for category 1 dogs; 3 solidi for category 2 dogs; 2 solidi for category 3 dogs; 1 solidus for category 4 dogs, and: 1 tremissis for category 5 dogs.
The dog has the wolf as its origin. The wolf fulfilled an important role in European societies. It was praised for its strength and ferocity, explaining why many Germanic names have the element wolf in them. At the same time, the wolf was feared and associated with darkness and the Devil. See our blog post Who’s Afraid of Voracious Woolf? — The Dread Beast Is Back.
A little more on cremation, because the practicalities matter. To cremate a human body completely requires an enormous amount of fuel — roughly 200 to 300 kilograms of seasoned oak (Nieuwhof 2020). For the inhabitants of the Wadden Sea salt marshes, that was simply beyond reach. Their treeless landscape provided no abundant supply of firewood, and what little timber was available was far too valuable to burn. Scarce oak was reserved for roof constructions, wagon wheels, boats, and other essential structures. Archaeologists have even identified what appear to be unsuccessful cremation attempts in the present-day Dutch province of Groningen — perhaps experiments inspired by Roman funerary practices.
Instead, everyday life relied on fuels such as dried peat and cattle dung, which could not produce the sustained temperatures needed for a complete cremation. Remarkably, these remained the principal domestic fuels on the terp settlements on the Hallig-islands in the region of Nordfriesland in Germany until the late 1950s (Baudewig 2025).
Because oak had to be transported from far inland, obtaining enough of it was a major undertaking. As a result, cremation was reserved for special occasions or exceptional individuals. One notable exception was the cremation of Prince Hnaef of the Hocings, a Danish people, around the year AD 450. Hnaef was slain at the (former) mouth of the River Rhine in West Frisia and burned on a funeral pyre, as recounted in the Old English epic poem Beowulf. See our blog post Tolkien Pleaded in Favour of King Finn: An Immortalized Royal Tragedy to learn more about this royal funeral and why it had to come to that.
Since cremation was rarely an option, and simply leaving the body to the scavengers of the salt marshes offered no absolute guarantee when it comes to your late mother-in-law staying where she belonged, something rather more fool proof is required. The solution was deceptively simple: bury her body. Where you buried it mattered far less than how, because a few additional precautions were considered essential. Either remove and bury one or more limbs separately from the rest of her body, or bind the limbs tightly together before burial. It may sound a little harsh, but it works like a charm: the spirits of the deceased will stay exactly where they were supposed to.
If you decide to tie her up, you have a few options. Binding the arms is a good start—it will keep her from wagging a ghostly finger at you for forgetting to do the dishes. Want a little more peace of mind? Tie her legs as well. That way, if she does somehow make it back, you should at least be able to outrun her. But if you’re after absolute certainty that she will not meddle in the affairs of the living, go one step further: bury one or more of her limbs separately from the rest of the body. Drastic? Maybe. Effective? Absolutely.
The least invasive — but surprisingly effective — method is to separate a foot from the body and bury it about a meter away from the grave (see image below). Just make sure she cannot reach her foot with her arms — would not want her piecing herself back together like a creepy jigsaw puzzle. This way, she stays put where she is buried, and you get to relax in peace.
One final precaution, to be used alongside the previous measures, is to dig a ditch around your house and property. The water in the ditch forms a symbolic boundary between the dangerous world outside and the safety of the household within. To reinforce its protective power, the ancient inhabitants of the Wadden Sea coast sometimes placed the bones of well-regarded ancestors in the ditch. Better still, according to the archaeological evidence, was to tether a new-born lamb to a sod of clay in the water — a curious ritual thought to strengthen the ditch’s protective force. Circular ditches have also been found surrounding Early Medieval cemeteries across the wider region, perhaps serving to keep restless spirits where they belonged.
Should you feel inspired to start digging ditches of your own, you may enjoy our blog post Groove Is in the Hearth. Very Superstitious, Is the Way.
Finally, have some well deserved peace!
More morbid precautions
Funerals in the north of the Netherlands, that is, in the former region of Frisia, retained some ancient pre-Christian rituals until quite recently. Chief among these were processions in which the deceased was carried along a path encircling the graveyard — often making a full circuit three times with the coffin. This practice may have originated as a rite of passage, marking the transition of the deceased from the world of the living to that of the dead. Alternatively, it might have served to confuse the soul, preventing it from finding its way back to the living world. Even today, it is not uncommon for mourners to make such rounds around the church with the deceased.
In the town of Zaandam, in the province of Noord Holland, stands perhaps the most ingenious church ever designed to trick the Devil, preventing it from getting its hand on the soul of the deceased. When the body of a deceased person is carried inside, the Devil usually does not dare to enter the church — too holy a place for it. So, it waits outside for the funeral procession to leave again. But the Westerzijdekerk in Zaandam has a secret: a special back exit made just for the dead. This way, the soul of the deceased can slip out safely. So, fooling the Devil, waiting until Doomsday for the soul to appear again. Clever people in Zaandam.
Furthermore, the graveyard itself. To this very day, these are often surrounded by a ditch, hedges, and a fence. Besides that, at the entrance fence, a cattle grid was placed on the path. All these measures make it impossible for the dead to check out from the hereafter. At the same time, these obstacles prevent the so-called Man of Wealth and Taste from entering the graveyard. The cattle grid makes it impossible for the Devil to cross since, as we all know of course, it has the slim legs of a goat. See also our blog post When the Gate of Hell Opened at the Golden Necklace where the Devil was recognized by its goat legs in a tavern in the port of Harlingen.
All these defensive measures around the graveyard were sometimes complemented by a rotating fence called a kjirrewirre in the Mid Frisian language. These rotating fences, or rotating crosses, turn counter-clockwise — something the Devil apparently cannot do, as it can only pass objects moving clockwise. You can find them in the graveyards of the villages of Kimswerd and Stiens in the province of Friesland. Additionally, the funeral procession would enter the church through the northern door — the side associated with darkness, evil, and the Devil — and exit through the southern door, symbolizing the sun and Christianity. Remarkably, examples of these ancient practices can still be found in the north of the Netherlands today.
Finally, a bit of morbid practice which, as far as we know, is not being practiced anymore, is the following.
Infants who died before baptism could not be laid to rest in the consecrated ground of a Catholic graveyard. Instead, they were buried just beyond the graveyard’s boundary. To ensure their bodies — or spirits — remained in place, a stake was sometimes driven through the tiny body into the earth. When this grim custom fell out of favour — or perhaps when volunteers for such a vampire-like ritual became scarce — the remains of unbaptized infants were instead placed in pots and set against the northern exterior wall of the church. Though denied sacred soil, they were kept within the graveyard’s shadow, under the church’s protection. And with rainwater running from the holy roof onto the pots, the infants were thought to be baptized after all. At the old churches of the villages Harich, Oudemirdum, Rottum, and Tjerkgaast, archaeologists have uncovered such pots containing the bones of infants dating from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.
If interested in more old and obscure rituals and practices, you should also read our blog post Groove Is in the Hearth. Very Superstitious, Is the Way mentioned earlier.
Note 1 — Main source on the burial practices at the salt marshes in the Late Iron Age: Nieuwhof, A., Eight human skulls in a dung heap and more. Ritual practices in the terp region of northern Netherlands (2015).
Note 2 — In the region of Ostfriesland several sagas exist about black hounds appearing as ghosts or being the Devil (Siefkes 1963). Take for example the sagas: Die beiden Pudel, Der Pudel vom Diekhof, Der schwarze Hund von Oldehafe, Der Höllenhund bei Esens, Der schwarze Hund von Uphusen, Der Höllenhund bei Loga, and Der Hund bei Strackholt.
Suggested music
- George Thorogood & The Destroyers, Bad To The Bone (1982)
- Michael Jackson, Thriller (1982)
- Creedence Clearwater Revival, Born on the Bayou (1969)
Further reading
- Baudewig, K., Alltag auf der Hallig (2025)
- Bon Repos Gites, Demon Dogs and Hell Hounds (2023)
- Buhrs, E., Old Companions, Noble Steeds: Why Dogs and Horses were Buried at an Early Medieval Settlement Along the Old Rhine. A Zooarchaeological analysis and literary review (2013)
- Dijkstra, M.F.P., Rondom de mondingen van Rijn en Maas. Landschap en bewoning tussen de 3e en de 9e eeuw in Zuid-Holland, in het bijzonder de Oude Rijnstreek (2011)
- Dooper, W., De Fryske hûnen. De geschiedenis van de stabij & wetterhûn en de Nederlandse Vereniging van Stabij- en Wetterhounen 1947-1997 (1997)
- Guðmundsdóttir, L., Wood procurement in Norse Greenland (11th to 15th c. AD) (2021)
- Historiek, Eeuwenoude Terpenhond krijgt dankzij nieuw onderzoek een uiterlijk (2025)
- IJssennagger-van der Pluijm, N.L., De Lex Frisionum en archeologie (2023)
- Knol, E., For Daily Use and Special Moments: Material Culture in Frisia, AD 400-1000 (2021)
- Koops, E., De Hondsdagen, de warmste periode van het jaar. Herkomst en geschiedenis van de hondsdagen (2024)
- Nieuwhof, A., Ezinge Revisited. The Ancient Roots of a Terp Settlement. Volume 1: Excavation — Environment and Economy — Catalogue of Plans and Finds (2020)
- Nieuwhof, A., Ezinge Revisited. The Ancient Roots of a Terp Settlement. Volume 2: Buildings — Habitation History — Remains of Rituals — Social Organization (2026)
- Nijdam, H., Law and Political Organization of the Early Medieval Frisians (c. 600-800) (2021)
- Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed, Een wierde van waarde: schimmen uit het Rottumer verleden (2023)
- Schuyf, J., Heidense heiligdommen. Zichtbare sporen van een verloren verleden (2019)
- Siefkes, W., Ostfriesische Sagen und sagenhafte Geschichte (1963)
- Smeyers, K., Wolf. Wildernisgeschiedenis (2023)
- Toebosch, T., Geen begrafenis, nee, laat de hond knagen aan de overledene. Ontvlezing was in Friesland een populair alternatief voor begraven of cremeren, zegt promovenda Annet Nieuwhof (2015)
- Unknown, Indiculus superstitionum et paganiarum (eighth century)
- Williams, H., Material culture as memory: combs and cremation in early medieval Britain (2003).
Frisia Coast Trail 