Transcript
Jason Weiser (0:00)
This time on the Myths and Legends member podcast, it's what to do if you come home after curfew, but only if your night out included murderous ogres, impromptu dog sledding and makeshift Santa cosplaying. The creature this time is the goose personification of evil, who will beat you up and embarrass you, but only if you're drunk. This is myths and legends, episode 425a a night out. This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore. Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins. Others are stories that might be new to you but are definitely worth a listen today. There are two stories from Flemish folklore. The main one is what you do if you come back too late from a crazy night out, but only if that night out includes ogres, wolves, and someone named Peter Littlecarrot. Okay, I know this looks bad, the boy said after landing in the fireplace and sending a cloud of soot to envelop his mother and father. Where were you? Did you stay at Peter Little Carrot's house last night? You know I don't like that kid. Nothing good comes from such a weirdly specific nickname, the dad said. But his mother stepped in. They talked about this. They needed to let their boy grow and take more responsibility and be more independent so they would give him a chance to explain himself. The boy smiled while patting his pocket. Aw, nuts. Shaking their heads, the parents asked what the problem was. The nuts. The nuts that would prove everything. They must have fallen out as I flew. The boy gritted his teeth and another cloud of soot went up from his stomp. Oh, how convenient. The only proof that you didn't stay at Billy Turnips or whatever your no good friend's dumb nickname was just fell away when you flew. The dad crossed his arms. Got him, dear, the wife said. This was what the therapist was talking about. She turned back to the boy before he got cleaned up. Why didn't he tell them why he was out all night in the forest and why he fell down the chimney just now? Well, the boys took a seat with another puff of ash and started in on his story. The boy and his friends, John Peter Littlecarrots. No explanation there, by the way, and George were out collecting nuts in the forest. The boy followed a barely existent trail to a grove. A grove laden with the biggest nuts he had ever seen. There wasn't even a bad one in the bunch. Calling out to his friends, he filled his church pants and coat, then handkerchief, then hat. This was amazing. He must have lost track of time, because when he next looked up, the rays were slanting sideways through the branches and it was getting late. Hey, John Peter. Littlecarrots. George. The boy yelled out, but the forest seemed to take each word and Smother did, however, send one back. An echo, or part of an echo. Ogre. The boy shook his head. Back at home, the last four letters of the word George. It was a warning. If I called out for help, I was also calling out for everything else in the forest. That's. The dad cocked his head. That's not how echoes work, and that's not how you spell ogre. If you were really reflecting the second half of the word George, it would. You know what the dad thought about it. He would just let his son continue the story. As soon as the forest said ogre, the last rays of the sun seemed to disappear. The boy was in darkness. It was terrifying. The forest at night was eerily quiet, and the boy could only assume that it was because everything was hiding from the hunters, the witches, the wolves, and yes, the ogres. Most of the nuts tumbled out from his handkerchief and hat, and he finally, nearly two hours later, got a glimpse of hope, the moon emerging from behind a cloud. He could see the forest around him and hearing carts on a faraway road. He knew carts meant people, or at least not forest. He could take the road home, so he ran. But no matter how far he went, the forest went farther, and the carts with it. Then he saw the light. A star the size of an egg blinked off in the distance. He soon realized that it was neither star nor a glowing egg. It was a house. A house in the dark forest. He had no choice. He went up and knocked, knocked on the house in the dark forest. The dad was livid. That was like rule two from that storyteller they listened to, the one with, you know, all those annoying, snarky references. Dear the mother really wanted to give the boy a chance. Who knocks so late? A voice grumbled from within, and the boy explained that he was from a neighboring village and he had lost both his companions and his way. He had been wandering for three hours now, begging her to let him in for the night. He was on the verge of tears. Go now. My husband is an ogre, the voice grumbled. If the boy entered this house, he would never leave it. If he had arrived even an hour later, the man would have emerged and that would have been it. But the boy had a chance now. Go. Go as fast as his legs could carry him. But the boy didn't, he reasoned that yes, it was bad to be eaten alive by an ogre. Pretty uncontroversial opinion. But if he wandered out into the night, he could run into a witch, a wolf, even an ogre. Okay, one last thing, then I promise I'll be quiet. What the dad said okay. If you left, you might run into an ogre. If you stayed there, there was a 100% chance of running into an ogre because it was an ogre's house. He sat back and crossed his arms, having gotten it out of his system. Normally the mom would chime in, but yeah, that was actually pretty terrible reasoning, but it apparently worked. The game of chicken, where he either died of being eaten by an ogre in the forest or or broke the ogre's wife's resolve to not let him come in and die of being eaten by an ogre in the house worked. She threw open the door and he tumbled inside. She immediately closed it and dropped the door bar. And it was nice roomy for him. He was a human child and ogres were huge. Lumbering to the window, she glanced outside with a nod before rooting through some of the cupboards for some bread and then poured some milk. As he slurped, she explained that if her husband returned, the boy was to hide in the back by those vats and not move at all. If he did that, he might be able to survive the night. She did note that he was surprisingly calm about eating dinner with an ogre. Yeah, the boy said through a mouth of soggy bread. I know. People aren't how they look. He had heard the story of Pretty Caroline and Ugly Caroline. I've not heard that one, the ogre woman said. Really? He thought. Everyone knew it. You know what? They had time to show his gratitude, he would tell the story. Okay, we really don't have time, the ogre woman said. Her husband could be by any moment, but the boy was already starting in on the story. Pretty Caroline patted the little lamb's head as the lamb actually smiled. Pretty Caroline didn't know lambs could do that. The shepherd passing by didn't know lambs could do that, but when in the presence of such beauty, anything was possible. This was delightful, as a friendly raccoon nuzzled Pretty Caroline and singing birds fluttered down to her shoulders. The sunlight broke through the clouds, then a grimace spread across the shepherd's face. Pretty Caroline's sister, Ugly Caroline, descended the steps of their manor to come pet the lambs too. No. No. The shepherd shrieked. Stay back. Don't you frighten these lambs the lambs were freaking out, but probably not because the young woman with the horrible nickname, but because their shepherd was absolutely losing it over the appearance of the young woman with the horrible nickname. The raccoon hissed and the birds flew away as the shepherd rushed his lambs down the road to safety. Safety from the ugliness. We all hate you, Ugly Caroline. I hope you die. He shouted back, a sentiment that had been shared by the musician the day before and nearly everyone in Caroline's life. I'm so sorry, Pretty Caroline, or PC as we're going to call her from now on, said when she found her sister looking downcast by the gate. She put her hand on the young woman's shoulder. He didn't mean it. Or rather, he just didn't know Caroline. He didn't know how wonderful she was. The character the story calls something similar to Ugly Caroline but who we're just going to call Caroline shook her head. What? No. Okay. She learned long ago to not put stock in what people like the shepherd thought of her from a glance. No, that wasn't it. Oh. PC looked to the ground. Yeah, my mom's gonna try to kill you again tonight, our mom, PC stated. But Caroline said that while it was sweet that PC was putting in the effort, Caroline's mom very much did not see it that way. Because, you know, yeah, all the attempted murders PC finished her stepsister's sentence. Caroline was the mother's biological daughter from her first marriage and PC was her daughter's father from his. They were pretty much the same age and both named Caroline, so the village by the father's manor found less than helpful ways to differentiate the pair. The stepmother had barely managed to hide her disdain for PC, but Caroline loved the girl. With PC being her first and only friend after a lifetime with her ridiculous and overbearing mother, the attempts on PC's life had grown more brazen. And just last night, the mother filled PC's pillow with inch long thorns, informing her own daughter of what pillow not to sleep on, and Caroline passed the message along to PC. Tonight it was poison. The mother had left to get poison from a witch, Caroline would inform PC what was poison tonight at dinner. Little meatballs for a dainty little mouth, the mother said as she scooped all the little meatballs onto PC's plate. The mother had made all these special meatballs for PC because she was so special and pretty and deserved everything from everyone. Always. Yay. PC caught Caroline's head shake. But she absolutely didn't need it. Mother, I'm gonna eat outside with PC so the cats don't accidentally eat any of our dinner, caroline said, and the mother pointed. Great idea limiting collateral damage in the form of cat vomit. Not very high vet bills. When they were alone, PC chucked the meatballs into the woods and the sisters sat together, wondering if there was any way out of this. We'll see the way out that doesn't involve poisoned meatballs or spiky pillows. But that will be right after this.