This Vood.
I have it on good authority that he recently scooped lumps of coal on to his dinner plate, believing them to be potatoes. Had it not been for the intervention of a scullery-maid, he would have eaten the lot! This is the kind of creature we’re dealing with here. It bears thinking about. Already I’ve heard tell of households where fractious children are hushed by mere mention of his name. ‘Bedtime now, or the Vood will come get you.’ I’d say that’s a worrying development. He’s acquired the definite article. People are afraid. These are decent people. When some of the children spoke of this Vood’s wearing , and I quote, “a hat of fire”, well, I was skeptical, naturally. But a hat of fire I’m afraid is exactly what this Vood has been observed to wear on several occasions! By those not given to voicing fancies, I might add. What to make of such a thing? Some demonic form of halo? Who knows. I suspect something stranger. This much, however, is clear: when this Vood is on the prowl, even the dogs of the town grow unsettled. His name alone carries implications. I shouldn’t wonder if it’s not already sprouted a suffix or turned into a verb. Or both. He’s already entered drunkards’ ditties. That can only bode worse.
What would it be ‘to vood’, one wonders. Indeed shudders. Vooding is certainly something you’d want to keep an eye on. As to being vooded, that too bears a thought, tremble as you will. Indeed the atmosphere of late may be said to have acquired a distinctly voodish character altogether. Glimpsed here, heard scrabbling there, this Vood will not rest. There’s something of him in the very breeze.
As I say, people are afraid. We all have families, loved ones. There’s not a day goes by we don’t have cause to worry. And I repeat: had it not been for the quick action of a certain scullery-maid, who wishes to remain anonymous, this Vood would have swallowed lumps of black carbonaceous rock and died appallingly. This is what we’re dealing with. If such a creature is prepared to gobble coal, what on earth might he be prepared to drink! It bears thinking about. Before it’s too late. Assuming, that is, it’s not too late already.
From petition delivered to Mayor Tardeau, February 1889:
“We the undersigned, inhabitants of the city of Arles, have the honour of informing you that a certain Vood, a Dutch citizen . . . and inhabitant of the said place, has for some time and on several occasions given sundry proofs that he is not in possession of his mental faculties. He indulges in excessive drinking after which he finds himself in such a state of over-excitement that he knows neither what he is doing nor what he is saying. His instability frightens all the inhabitants of that quarter, and above all the women and the children.”
Image by Ben Scherjon from Pixabay – a pile of coal which fills the image
literally stories 
Geraint
There is Dutch in my family line, and all madness has been attributed to the inclusion of that distant person.
I see this as a perfectly subtle jab at xenophobia. Maybe even Wiccan fishing.
Even though I may be way off in my opinion (in which case the blame may be laid on the ghost of one M. Van der Meer my genology addicted aunt dug up, metaphorically speaking of couse) it feels that way.
Quite witty and entertaining at any rate.
Leila
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Short and if not sweet then definitely packed with flavour and delightfully weird!
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An odd little piece but entertaining and there are points made and thoughts provoked and it bears reading more than once with perhaps a glass of aqua vite in between. A good addition to your list of stories. Thank you – dd
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Geraint,
Every neighborhood I grew up in had a Vood. The kids exaggerated him, and the parents used him to assure compliance. Life often got Voodish while things went Vooding in the night. Thanks for the memories. — Gerry
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Geraint
An ancient personal letter used to be around 100 words long, more or less.
This compactness was for a variety of reasons, one of them being that the letter needed to be compact so it could travel well and be handled easily and carried around with one to be read multiple times, etc. Therefore, it’s almost certain that the writers of ancient letters never wasted any words. They got right to the point, and said all the things that needed to be said immediately, and only the things that needed to be said; and then they stopped.
Parables, fables, and folk tales also never wasted words, one reason being so that they could remain memorable in an easy way and thus be handed on orally. In a world of virtually endless amounts of useless, untrue and-or inauthentic information, a writer, scholar, or artist these days NEEDS to block much out and return to a stern focus on what’s important.
Your focus on vivid microfiction and its various iterations in your work is thus part of a movement that is helping reinvent creative writing, and art-making generally, for now, and for the future.
The PROSE POEM as begun in the hands of Baudelaire through the lens of Edgar Allan Poe and then handed on in turn to Rimbaud who then handed it on to Borges, Beckett, Bukowski, and others is part of the lineage of this.
This story created an immense amount of interest and intrigue in its first two thirds; then it delivered on the initial suspense and tension by turning the tables on the reader and redefining, and revealing, who the Vood is.
Beethoven, Poe, Rimbaud, VAN GOGH and similar artists swept through their worlds like whirlwinds which absolutely terrified all the safe, “sane,” and so-called regular, normal citizens.
Society always kicks back against a challenge to become more authentic because upsetting the apple cart is always viewed as a bad thing by the mob; Jesus knew this when he flew into the temple, freed all the doves, smashed all the money-changing tables, and whipped anyone who got in his way.
Your story from today is extremely profound, extremely subtle, and extremely knowing about the way the world works.
The amount of things you’re able to accomplish in such a compressed space is truly enviable; the mystery of this tale remains, but the theme and meaning is very clear to anyone who has lived through or seen versions of this in the real world.
THANKS FOR WRITING!!
Dale
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I reckon the correct word for this intriguing piece is ‘crafty.’ I had thought it had a kind of Brothers Grimm folk-tale vibe at the beginning. Then suddenly you get to Arles 1889 and you realise it’s utterly different.
Googled the Van Gogh Museum and saw the sad letter to his brother. Amazingly, 80 people signed the petition and the Chief of Police threw him in jail and wouldn’t let him smoke (possibly because they were worried that he’d set fire to his hat?). Poor guy.
Well-written, Geraint. You certainly had me fooled.
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Imaginative and entertaining. A good satire on how people are quick to believe the unbelievable.
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All comments much appreciated, thank you. “… un certain VOOD” was the very expression used in the original petition to have Van Gogh ‘removed’. He was well accustomed to people mangling his surname – hence the canvases signed simply ‘Vincent.’ And there were doubtless many meetings held & many men, plump with their own civic importance, holding forth.
Geraint
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Geraint
Thanks for penning this tale, and for knowing the things needed to be known in order to pen (type) it.
You never write a bad sentence!
Dylan wrote about his mid-1960s songs that he had wished to:
“see it [the world] for what it was and reveal it for what it was with the hard words and the vicious insight.”
You live up to that injunction…Congrats and thank you.
Dale
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Thanks for the additional info, Geraint. Well researched! Coincidentally, on UK Freeview tonight, there was a programme on Van Gogh – didn’t even mention the hostility he’d met in Arles. Mick
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A part of a Grimm tale.
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A strange tale that might be passed down on cold winter nights. I liked, “I shouldn’t wonder if it’s not already sprouted a suffix or turned into a verb. Or both.”
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Hi Geraint,
I love when there is some type of Bogeyman to ‘Scare the weans!’
I didn’t know about the letter so thanks for that, it’s sad…Most petitions are in one form of another. Most have a genuine reason but a lot of the time not the full circumstance is taken into account. And what is even sadder is they very seldom make a difference even when they should!!
This was interesting, entertaining and enlightening!!
All the very best my fine friend.
Hugh
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Highly entertaining and quirky. I love the phonemics of this one, right from the word ‘Vood’ which, for some reason, is a joy to say out loud. What I mean is this reads so well read out loud as the choice of words and voice have such character – an almost Victorian relish to them.
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