Today, we’re diving into the spine-tingling legend of the Dearg-Due, Ireland's OG vampire, and trust me, this tale is packed with drama, betrayal, and a sprinkle of supernatural spookiness. Picture this: a stunning young woman from Waterford, whose dad sold her off to a chieftain she loathed, leading to a whole mess of heartbreak and, well, let’s just say a few folks end up six feet under because of it. We’re talking about a restless spirit rising from the grave, taking revenge on those who wronged her—like a ghostly avenger with a serious vendetta. It's not your typical vampire story; this one’s all about justice and the haunting reminder that some things, like love and betrayal, can echo through the ages. So grab your headphones and settle in, because we’re about to explore how the Dearg-Due isn’t just a bloodsucker; she’s a powerful symbol of grief and the weight of forgotten stories.

Takeaways:

• The legend of the Dearg-Due, Ireland's original vampire, is a wild tale of betrayal and heartbreak that predates Dracula by centuries.
• This story dives deep into the themes of love, loss, and the quest for justice in the afterlife—definitely not your average vampire tale!
• The Dearg-Due isn’t just about bloodsucking; it's a haunting reminder of societal injustice and the consequences of forgetting the dead.
• Folklore teaches us that every culture has its own way to deal with grief, and the Dearg-Due is Ireland's dark twist on that theme.
• The chilling image of the pale woman wandering graveyards serves as a warning—some spirits demand to be remembered, or else!
• This episode highlights how the Dearg-Due's story resonates with old Celtic beliefs about vengeance and the thin line between life and death.

Welcome back to Bite Sized Folklore, where we serve up strange tales and small portions, just enough to make your day a little stranger.

My name's Jodi.

And today's story comes from the south east of Ireland, from the shadowed graveyards of Waterford.

It's a tale of beauty, betrayal and blood.

A story older than Dracula.

Older even than the word vampire itself.

This is the legend of the Derek Dhu, Ireland's original vampire.

Long ago, no one remembers when exactly there lived a young woman in the lands near Strongbow's Tree, not far from Waterford.

Her name has been lost to time, but the people said she was the most beautiful girl in the whole of Ireland.

She had hair like harvest gold, her eyes like still water.

Men came from miles around to court her, bringing gifts and promises.

But she loved only one.

A poor farmer son, kind and gentle.

He sang her songs by moonlight.

Her father, however, he only saw gold and he sold her hand to a rich old chieftain.

Now this chieftain, she absolutely despised.

And her dad sold her to him in exchange for land and cast cattle.

On the day of her wedding, the girl's tears fell onto her white dress like rain.

And that night, as the drunken feast went on, she walked into the dark fields and was never seen alive again.

There were rumours that she took her own life because of heartbreak.

Other people claimed her new husband beat her to death in a rage.

But whatever happened, she was buried beneath the cold earth near the churchyard at Waterford.

Her soul restless, her love unfinished.

Years later, strange things began to happen.

A grave was found.

Disturbed, the soil loose, the coffin lids splintered.

And in the nights that followed, villagers whispered of a pale woman seen wandering among the tombs.

Her skin was white, whiter than you could imagine.

And her eyes were red, as red as blood.

Men who had once wronged her, her father, her husband, even the priests who blessed the cursed marriage, they were all found dead.

And each had the same mark on his throat.

The people named her Dirak Dhu, from the Irish, dirak meaning red and Du, meaning blood.

The red bloodsucker.

They said she rose every year from her grave to feed a revenant driven by sorrow and vengeance, and that no crucifix nor prayer could stop her.

Unlike the vampires of later fiction, the Dirak Jew didn't come from distant castles or wear velvet cloaks.

She rose from Ireland's own soil, a creature born of injustice, grief and hunger for love that was denied.

In old Irish folklore, the boundary between life and death was thin, thinner still on Samhain.

When spirits could cross the vale, the Dirich Jew belonged to that world.

Not a demon, not a witch.

But something caught a little bit in between.

People began to leave stones piled upon her grave, believing the weight could keep her down.

Every year before Samhain, they added more and more and more.

A cairn of warning and protection.

But if anyone forgot, the earth was said to stir.

Fathers warned their daughters not to stray too far from the hearth on the moonless night.

Lovers avoided the churchyard after dusk.

And if a pale woman called your name from the shadows, you ran, no matter how sweet she sounded.

Centuries later, writers rediscovered her story.

Some say she inspired Sheridan Le Fanu's Camilla, Ireland's other vampire tale, also written decades before Dracula.

And it's no wonder.

The Dirich Jew is the perfect dark mirror to the romantic vampire myth.

She doesn't charm or seduce for sport.

She haunts for justice.

She kills the powerful who took her power.

Her hunger is not for blood alone.

It's for balance.

In that way, she's closer to the older Celtic spirits of vengeance, like the Benshee or the Cailleach ghosts.

Much closer to them than to the elegant vampires of Victoria imagination.

Some people still say her grave lies beneath the ruins of Strongbow's Tree outside Waterford.

On quiet nights, some claim they've seen a little flicker of light there, or heard footsteps circling the mound.

And every few years, someone disturbs the stones.

Not on purpose, maybe, just curious, maybe careless.

And afterward, they say, the nights feel colder, the wind sharper, the dreams much stranger.

Perhaps it's only coincidence.

Or perhaps Ireland's red bloodsucker still waits beneath that cairn, watching for the moment the last stone is moved.

Folklorists often describe the Dirak Jew as Ireland's first vampire.

But if you listen closely, she's not just a monster.

She's a story about power, punishment, and the cost of forgetting the dead.

Every culture invents creatures to explain its grief.

The Irish gave us the Banshee's cry, a voice of warning.

And the Dirag Jew, a hand from the grave demanding remembrance.

Thank you so much for listening to this week's episode of Bite Sized Folklore.

If you enjoyed today's tale, share it with someone who loves old myths or who thinks that they've heard every vampire story that there is.