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.
Continue reading “A Certain Vood,by Geraint Jonathan”
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