In the still hours between midnight and dawn, when even the owls fall silent, there’s a heaviness that can creep across the chest of a sleeping soul—a suffocating weight, a nightmare you can’t wake from. In the villages of Lesser Poland, this is not sleep paralysis. This is the Zmora.
The Phantom That Rides the Sleeper
Described as a pale, thin woman with stringy hair and shadowed eyes, the Zmora is a spirit that slips through keyholes and cracks under the door. She sits astride your chest as you sleep, draining your energy, twisting your dreams into dread. In some tales, she was once a living woman—jealous, cursed, or wronged. In others, she’s a restless soul born of a stillborn child or the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter.
Farmers in 19th-century Podhale blamed her for fatigue, bad crops, and even crib deaths. One tale from the village of Ochotnica tells of a blacksmith who caught the Zmora by sprinkling holy ash around his bed. At midnight, she appeared—hunched and shrieking—and could not escape the ring. In the morning, she transformed into the baker’s daughter, pale and mute, never to speak again.
A Curse Passed Down
Folklore holds that the Zmora can pass her curse through bloodlines or envy. If you insult her unknowingly, if you refuse her hospitality in dreams, or even if you fail to leave a bowl of water by your bed—she may choose to haunt you.
Some families used to place iron scissors under pillows, or hang garlic and rowan twigs by the door. The old ones would sleep with their faces to the wall, never toward the open room.
A Local Whisper
In the village of Ropa, an elderly man named Stanisław claimed he was ridden by a Zmora every Thursday for a year in the 1950s. He described waking paralyzed, seeing a shadow in the corner of the room with glowing red eyes. It only ended when a priest performed a midnight blessing on the house—but the Zmora returned to haunt his dreams once more before he died in 1974, his body found rigid and cold in bed, eyes wide open.
Protective Measures for the Superstitious (or Sensible):
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Place a mirror facing the bed: the Zmora hates her own reflection.
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Tuck a silver coin under your pillow.
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Sleep with a broom at your bedside—one bristle for every night she doesn’t come.
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And whatever you do… never sleep with your bedroom door open.
Have your ancestors warned you of the Zmora? Or have you felt her icy breath on your chest before the sun rose?
Share your tale. Or sleep well—if you can.
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