In a lonely valley, between two steep hills, there once lived a demon. He was not a very scary demon, but a troublesome one. His greatest joy was to bother people and try to tempt them into bad habits.
“Give up your honesty!” he would whisper. “Forget your kindness!” he would hiss.
But the people of the valley were good and strong. They worked hard, helped one another, and prayed each day for courage. No matter how hard the demon tried, nobody listened to him.
One day, the demon stomped his feet and growled, “I must find a cleverer way to trick these people!”
Just then, he overheard a hermit, a wise, gentle man, praying by the river. The demon tiptoed closer, an idea forming in his head.
He appeared before the hermit in a puff of smoke and said slyly, “Let us make a bargain! I will build you a fine bridge across this wide river. No longer will your people have to struggle with boats or ford the dangerous waters. But in return…” He licked his lips. “The very first being to cross the bridge will belong to me, body and soul!”
The hermit stroked his beard, pretending to think. In truth, he saw through the demon’s trick. But he bowed politely and replied, “Very well. Build your bridge.”
“Ha-ha!” cackled the demon. “At last, I shall win!”
That very night, the demon got to work. With hisses of smoke and sparks of fire, he stacked stones, shaped arches, and laid slabs as wide as wagons. He worked so quickly that by morning, a grand bridge stretched across the roaring river.
The demon clapped his hands with glee. “Now,” he muttered, “all I must do is wait for the hermit to cross, and his soul will be mine!”
At dawn, the hermit came walking calmly to the riverbank. The demon popped up in front of him, grinning wickedly.
“Well, well, old man,” he chuckled. “A promise is a promise! Step onto the bridge, and you are mine!”
But the hermit only smiled. “You are right, a promise is a promise. You said the first to cross would belong to you. So let us see who crosses first.”
He turned and called behind him. Out from the trees trotted, not a person, but a donkey! The humble beast, ears flopping and tail swishing, wandered straight onto the new bridge. Clip-clop, clip-clop!
The demon’s eyes bulged. “What is this?”
“You promised,” said the hermit calmly. “The first to cross the bridge is yours. And look, it is a donkey!”
The demon stamped his foot so hard that sparks flew. He had been tricked, outwitted by the hermit’s simple wisdom.
“No! No! No!” he shrieked. Smoke poured from his ears. In a fury, he leapt off the bridge, splashed into the river with a great HISSSS, and vanished beneath the foaming waves.
The people of the valley crossed the bridge happily, safe and free, while the demon was never seen again. Some say he still sulks at the bottom of the river, too embarrassed to show his face.
And from that day on, the people would smile whenever their donkeys trotted across the bridge. “Braver than a demon!” they laughed.