425: Flemish legends: A Night Out

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 425, 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 Little Carrot. 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. Ah, 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 Little Carrots, 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 Little Carrots? George? The boy yelled out. But the forest seemed to take each word and smother it. It 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 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. Roomie, 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. Uh, 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 life I so sorry pretty Caroline or PC as we 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 shoulder He didn mean it Or rather he just didn know Caroline He didn 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, yeah, 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 going to 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 on the 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 going to 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. Starting a business means wearing many hats, designer, marketer, manager, while chasing your vision. Shopify powers millions of businesses with tools to build beautiful stores, create content and market with ease. From inventory to shipping, everything runs smoothly. If you're ready to sell, you're ready for Shopify. Sign up for your one euro trial today at Shopify.nl. That's Shopify.nl. The mother, upon realizing that the young woman she had raised since she was a toddler, was not in fact murdered by her, cried blood and raged, which was a nice silver lining for the girls. She was growing bolder, though. Caroline began to hear whispers that the next attempt would be the biggest yet. Pay attention, ugly Caroline. The mother pulled her daughter aside while PC was getting free stuff from a traveling tradesman, simply for adequately fulfilling society's expectations of beauty. When you go with a sack of flour to the mill later, you must let it drag and be overcome before you arrive near the little sticks that support the mill. Pretty Caroline must take it all alone. As soon as she touches the little sticks, she will be crushed by the mill, and then you will be more than ever the pet of your mother. You rigged a mill to collapse on her? Caroline asked. And she did. First, she had to use her husband's largesse to purchase the mill and then work with the former owner to spend weeks sabotaging it so that it would collapse when someone bumped a stick. It was actually a fairly complicated feat of engineering. She reckoned she would have to have the work crew taken care of whenever the deed with PC was complete, but those were tomorrow's problems. That is insane, PC said to her sister, upon hearing the lengths their mother would go to in order to murder her. Also, how messed up is it that she was using her own affection to get you to be complicit in a murder? PC shook her head. Right? Not to mention addressing me as ugly Caroline. Anyway, Caroline swung her bag toward the mill, and she managed to hit one of the sticks by the wall, by the spot that read, Pretty Caroline, you're back here, and then stand still for like 15 to 20 seconds. 17 seconds after the bag knocked over the stick, the mill was in ruins, and the only casualties were the five rats that had been sleeping in the flour bag. She's like still up there, praying and stuff, you know, thanking God that she wasn't killed by the mill when it fell. She heard the rumbling and was out of there in 12 seconds flat, PC heard her sister say. The mother swore at the heavens and unsheathed her dagger, saying that she would now go get rid of the girl herself, no matter the cost. Upon seeing the woman depart and emerging from the bushes, PC had to admit that her sister was right. She did need to leave. No matter what the world held for her out there, it wasn't as dangerous as what lurked in her very own home. Caroline had a bag ready for PC, and they were hugging on the road mere minutes after the mother left. PC should follow the road through the night and not stop until she came to the city. Things would work out for her. They always did. Caroline would try to communicate to her father what happened. Above all, and against all hope, she prayed that she would see her sister again. After one final embrace, P.C. left her sister weeping behind her. P.C. didn't stop at dawn, but she did stop at a river? A big one. So wide that she had to squint to see the other side of it. Thinking that maybe it wasn't a river at all, but some lake or inland ocean. glancing up and down she couldn't see a bridge or a ferry. She figured that she was far enough from home to be safe from her mother. Also, PC was gone. The woman got what she wanted. PC sat down by the water and looked at the waves. Forlorn. Why did she even need to cross? What was on the other side of that water? Why cross? Why even do anything? There was nothing before her and nothing behind her. Now, it was only her. Before the tears could take her, something began happening. Arms. Arms emerged from the water. They began a few feet from where she sat. Two parallel rows of human arms that rose and clasped the other, making a bridge of human arms. PC didn't know what this was. There was nothing in the old tales that talked about this, but if there ever was a sign, this was it. A bridge of wrists and forearms that stretched almost beyond sight. At the moment she needed one most, PC rose and knew what she must do. She took a step. As she walked, the arms that made the bridge didn't appear to be pained. It was strange, too. Well, nearly as strange as a bridge of arms, but even though she looked beyond the elbows, she couldn't see into the water. There was an odd balancing of trying to stay up on the flesh and bones. They weren't planks of wood, but she managed. And as she got to the halfway point, she could see beyond the other shore, to the beautiful, verdant land, to her new life. Then she saw something else. The hands on the far end were coming unclasped and sliding away from each other. No, she looked back and those two were letting go. The bridge was coming undone. She began to run. So, signs can move in two directions. It can be the case that, yes, if a bridge presents itself as you've reached the end of the line, that is a possible sign that you should keep going. It could also be argued that perhaps it could be a malicious force preying on someone who has no other options in their most desperate moment As the bridge disappeared into the water and the hands grasped her ankles throwing her down so they could hold her arms and cover her mouth, as the water nymphs and, quote, vampires, no explanation there, rose with glowing red eyes and sharp, sinister teeth, PC thought that maybe she had misinterpreted some things. Learning a brief but profound lesson on confirmation bias, PC fought and tried to scream, but it was no good. Then, the bridge, the one that was slowly pulling her under the water, froze. A bright light that shined more brilliantly than the sun blinded PC, until her eyes were able to adjust. And a woman in white floated above her. She radiated warmth and safety. The queen of all the water in the woods waved a hand, and the arms let P.C. go. Without a word, she glared at the nymphs and vampires, and more light burst from her. They hissed and fled, once again, below the water. P.C. dropped, but only for a second. A nautilus rose around her and held her, as they skimmed across the water to the other side. I saw you, and I couldn't let you fall to them, the woman said. You look as if you could be my own daughter, you being so beautiful. PC was a little frustrated, honestly, that it was once again about this, about her beauty, but okay, it had just saved her life, she would let it go. I am able, in my domain, to grant anything you desire. The woman waved her hand when they reached the shore, and a vine rose and grapes grew on them instantly, like beads of water. Waving her hand again, the woman clothed PC in the same radiant white dress that she wore. It would keep the evil things of the world at bay. Then, taking PC's hand, she led the girl to her new home, the palace made of coral and shells that stood above the trees. Days and weeks passed like moments and while P.C. was happy she could tell that her mother or the woman who had been caring for her over these months as though she were the mother P.C. never knew was deep in thought. In their palace that seemed to be made of shells, the woman in white turned to PC. It seemed that her daughter's, PC's, story was not her own to write. Even here in this land, the story could not be contained. He was coming. PC shook her head. He? They haven't really established a male character. Your love. The prince. The woman smiled. My love, PC shook her head. What was her mother speaking of? The prince, a king now, but he didn't know it, had braved many trials. He had raided the underground kingdom of the fairies and fought a dragon to find this place. To find PC, the daughter of the queen of the sea. He had just landed on the island, the woman informed PC, after slaying vampires. The mother had her magic, but even that couldn't fight fate. Before her mother left, though, she could give her daughter one more thing. All the time she had been here, PC hadn't used her wishes. Two still remained. They could hear, echoing up through the palace, knuckles wrapping on the door. And the woman in white shook her head. It was too late. She must go. Touching her daughter's hand, she said that P.C. could wish for anything. The woman in white vanished. P.C. paced as she heard her Prince Charming hacking at the door downstairs. Two wishes, okay. Well, she knew the first. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Caroline, her sister, stood in front of her. The sisters embraced, with Caroline pushing back and looking around. where were they? She had been so worried and... My love, the princess, they heard from the first floor. He was inside the palace now. It wouldn't be long. Quickly, PC held her sister. It was unfair, unfair that the world had put so much on them, on Caroline. She wanted them to be the same and to be together forever, but she paused. Did Caroline remember that dream PC used to have when they were little, of them being free. Caroline grew serious for a moment, then looked at her sister. Okay. The pounding at the door didn't abate, and for the prince outside, after everything, he was so close to winning his princess. He had heard of the great beauty of the daughter of the woman in white, and that was what spurred him onward in his darkest hour. A door wouldn't stand in his way. He lowered his shoulder and the shells splintered from the doorframe at the highest room in the highest tower. Stepping through, his wide smile faded when he didn't see the legendary daughter of the woman in white. Or anyone. The only things in the room were two identical swans. The prince or the king looked all over, but this was it? What was happening? He spent the better part of a day combing the castle, but finally relented, and went home forlorn in defeat, home to his nearly limitless wealth and power and the ability to marry anyone and do anything he wanted. The two swans, though, had long since gone. They had flown off. It's said that they could be seen swimming up and down the rivers of that magical land and flying in freedom and joy. Forever. We'll get back to our main story with The Boy Lost in the Woods. But that will, once again, be right after this. with tools to build beautiful stores, create content, and market with ease. From inventory to shipping, everything runs smoothly. If you're ready to sell, you're ready for Shopify. Sign up for your 1 euro trial today at shopify.nl. That's shopify.nl. I'm sorry, what was the point of that? The ogre wife sat back at the cabin. Ah, well, it's, you know, really interesting how it kind of subverted what you'd think was going to happen. You know, a lot of times stories like this follow the prince and his quest to get the princess, but this was about the princess choosing not to be with the prince and instead live with her sister forever. It was also to show that looks aren't everything, which was kind of our original connection here. The boy finished up his bread. And that, you know, people others might think are evil can be good, huh? Mm, yeah, and I'm the evil one, got it, the ochre woman said, freezing at the low rumble that seemed to subtly shake the house. Just then, they heard the door shake. Julie, why is this door locked? They heard from outside. Julie, we've talked about this. I'm very jealous and rage-filled, and I'm filling with rage. He really calmly described how he's filling with rage. the boy said to the ogre woman, but she pointed to the vats. Go! As the boy ran, the ogre woman rushed to unbar the door, and standing near the vats, the boy couldn't remember whether he was supposed to hide behind the vats or in the vats. She wouldn't be able to respond now. All right, in it was. The ogre wife allowed a glance back. She couldn't see the boy. Good. She threw open the bar and her husband pushed past her. We live in the dark forest. It's dangerous out there. You expect me not to lock our door when you're out doing whatever it is you do all night? She turned, shaking her head. Dangerous? Do I need to give my I am the danger speech again? Because there's nothing out there as dangerous as me, the ogre said. Oh, I know. And so did my mother. Should have listened to her, the wife shook her head. But he didn't take the bait. The plan was to get him distracted with food and maybe a little arguing, and then give him enough wine to knock him out She was late on dinner so there wasn anything to cover the smell There a boy here the ogre smelled the air Yeah, three of them. There are three boys chopped up and pickling in the vats in the back. It's great that whenever you go out for takeout, you always get your favorite. The ogre woman crossed her arms. Oh, you eat boys all the time, the ogre said, but stayed on the scent. I eat them. I don't like them. The woman replied. Sniffing the air, the ogre said, no, there was one here. He smelled fresh, tender boy flesh. His words, by the way. The scent led him to the back. Oh, the vats. The ogre wife crossed her arms. The ones full of pickled boys. No, the ogre unhooked his axe from the wall. Not that one. The other one. She became silent. The ogre raised his axe above his head, and she winced. Well, she tried. She told the kid not to come inside. With a smash, the other vat broke open in milk, thick cream poured out onto the floor, and beyond. Because not to get too gruesome here, but I imagine when you're working with the volume of literal butchery that the ogre does, drainage is key. So the boy, the living boy, our protagonist, by his diminutive size, managed to tumble out in the torrent of milk and slip down the drain in the cottage while the ogre stood searching the splinters. And his wife said an extremely satisfying, See, I told you. why why would you sleep there the dad said where else should i sleep the boy contorted his soot stained face literally anywhere other than a barrel outside the house of the ogre that was just trying to eat you. Also, he smells boys. Not this boy, the boy smiled. He had that milk stink on him, which wasn't terribly different from his usual stink, his parents noticed. It was the last place the ogre would suspect, the boy smiled. Also, the boy could hear them and hide away if he came looking. He didn't expect, however, the licks. He awoke in the small hours of the morning to a sloppy tongue rubbing the barrel outside, and then his face. Given that ogres would be more inclined to bite, he didn't scream, and opened his eyes to meet those of a dog. That gave him an idea. In the north, he heard of people putting dogs on sleds and going long distances on the snow. Rocking the barrel back and forth to ensure it was loose from the dirt, he waved the dog over and whispered something in its ear. The dog was amenable and turned around. The boy grabbed its tail and off they went. Okay, that dog wanted you to scratch above its tail. Dogs don't speak Flemish or French or any other language than dog, the dad said. The boy asked then why did the dog run when he grabbed its tail? The dad was not going to answer that. Rocketing through the forest, they went for several minutes until disaster struck. When the kid hit a tree with the barrel and the helpful dog, seeing that his job was complete, went off to help someone else, and didn't run away as fast as it could because that smelly kid finally let go of its tail. The kid, rising from the splinters of his former sled, looked up at the sky. Light. Oh, good, but also terrible. He was going to be in so much trouble with his dear, wonderful, dear parents who he hated angering or vexing in any way. The bells rang out from the village and the roosters crowed from the farms. But, like the bells, the roosters seemed to crow all around. He was still lost. Snapping his fingers, he spied the tallest poplar tree. If he could climb that, he could look out in every direction and see where he needed to go. So, that's what he did. He was that age where he could climb a tree like he could walk down a street, and, in a moment, was at the highest point of the highest tree and he saw it. Home. It wasn't far either. The woods ended not a tenth of a mile or roughly .16 kilometers away at the churchyard. The cottage wasn't far beyond that. He was nearly there. If he didn't die. The house in a moment got farther away as the top of the tree dipped backwards and the boy clung to it for dear life. Then he got closer, much closer, as the tree bounced back the other way with the weight of the boy on top. The swaying of the tree became more and more intense, and the boy feared his ability to be able to get down. But as the wind picked up and pushed him, that worry dropped to the bottom of his list as he lost his grip and shot off into the sky. It was pure luck that I landed directly in our chimney, the boy marveled. So there they had it. That was the story of his night, why he didn't come back in time. Giant nuts, ogres, vats of pickled boys, milk rivers, dog barrel sled rides, and flying from the treetops like a squirrel. Yeah, I don't mean to speak for both of us, but I don't believe you, the mother said, and Dad chimed in. No, yeah, that was all ridiculous. He had been up all night risking injury and highwaymen looking for the boy, and not only had he spent all night out, but he lied about it. He needed to go wash the ashes off his clothes, and then they could talk about the consequences of this behavior. The boy, knowing that it was futile to argue, went to wash off in the river, while the mother dusted the tables and the father swept the floor. It was in this sweeping that the father brushed off something he didn't quite recognize. Dusting three of them off and bringing them into the light, he found that, no, it couldn't be. But it was. They must have dropped from his son's pockets when he hit the hearth. They were the biggest hazelnuts, chestnuts, and walnuts that he had ever seen in his life. A bit of a shorter episode this week. since this one comes out on New Year's Eve. But we'll be back again in 2026, in two weeks, and we'll be getting into that 101 night story with the genies and mad dads that I mentioned a few weeks back that ended up taking way longer than I thought it would. Anyway, Happy New Year. The creature this time is the Judd from Albanian mythology. The Judd is, apparently, the personification of evil, which is a big title for a guy who apparently just likes to throw riders and beat up drunk people. It has the ability to assume the form of any animals, with the examples given of a dog, donkey, goose, ox, snake, or horse. If you happen to be riding a horse, that's the personification of evil, you should probably first check out the definition of the word personification, because that word is probably doing a lot more work than you think. But it will act like a bad horse. It will try to bite you, and if you're riding it, it will throw you and then try to trample you to death. The only way to stay safe is to not run. Don't know if you know this, but horses are way better at running than we are. Now, apparently the only safe spot is rolling directly beneath the horse's belly. And yes, that does happen to be where all those hooves that do all that trampling happen to be. But I don't write the rules, I only clumsily laugh at them, before getting well-written and insightful emails, explaining the history and cultures from thoughtful listeners. Apparently the Judd's evil is limited to two outlets, trying to trample anyone who rides it, which frankly is not an unreasonable response. The second is, like I mentioned, beating up drunk people. If you needed extra motivation not to overdo it, getting beaten up by a dog or a goose in the middle of town is a pretty good one. That's it for this time. Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser. Our theme song is by Broke for Free, and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Combs. There's a list of even more of the music we used in the show notes. Thank you so much for listening, and thank you so much for your support, and we'll see you next time. Starting a business means wearing many hats. Designer, marketer, manager, while chasing your vision. Shopify powers millions of businesses with tools to build beautiful stores, create content, and market with ease. From inventory to shipping, everything runs smoothly. If you're ready to sell, you're ready for Shopify. Sign up for your 1€ trial today at shopify.nl. That's shopify.nl. positive