The Vodo (true ancestor of the bat or rat)?

I just thought that the word was a play on the word "voodoo". Of course, it's a fictional creature. Do you really think you can give a woman a brooch that will get bigger and kill her?



"There will be blood. Oh, yes, there WILL be blood."-Jigsaw; "Saw II"

Never listened that closely to his pronunciation. I listened again. The first time he says it (around seven minutes into the segment) it does sound rather like 'vodo' or 'veaudeau.' Twenty seconds or so later it sounds more like 'vodoo' or 'vodoux.' A real word that sounds a bit like this and that seems somewhat appropriate is 'vodoun.'

Unfortunately, none of these produce any likely results when googled. Most likely, it is an entirely made up animal with an entirely made up spelling. Which a consummate professional like Norman Lloyd ought to be able to pronounce the same way twice.

No doubt someone reading this board has that Night Gallery companion book (which I don't) and may be able to find some mention of the correct spelling. Oh well, it was an interesting little diversion.

Or perhaps someone who did a bit of writing for the second season of the show may read this and have some recollection of the proper spelling and the origin of the creature.

I would say "yes". Although since I didn't write it (I don't think) I truly can't remember -- EXCEPT FOR THE TITLE -- very much of 'A FEAST OF BLOOD'. I'm also not in my 20's anymore. Thanks anyway for your curiosity, and helping 'NIGHT GALLERY' live on. gs

THE FUR BROOCH
by Dulcie Gray

SHE HAD NO IDEA why she had agreed to go out with him. She didn’t like him, and she never would, but he seemed to have a hypnotic effect on her. Thank Heavens though, it would be for the last time.

They had met three months ago, and this was the sixth time he had persuaded her to spend an evening with him, and each time she had been uncomfortable and bored. She was sorry for him of course, but she actually found him repulsive, she didn’t quite know why. She shivered slightly.

He was a small man, and rather stout, with a pink and white complexion, a round unlined face and baby-blue rather staring eyes. He had a soft insinuating voice, he fluttered his pudgy white hands nervously all the time when he spoke, and he walked mincingly. Not her type at all. His name was Henry Mallory and he was twenty-seven.

She was eighteen, and very pretty. She wasn’t conceited about it, but she knew it for a fact. Everyone, including the looking glass in her bedroom told her so. Her name was Sheila Francis.

Unfortunately Sheila’s mother rather liked Henry, and did everything she could to encourage him, but now that Sheila was engaged to John Coolridge, surely even her mother must realise that Henry couldn’t take Sheila out any more. Not after tonight.

John was wonderful. Sheila sighed happily as she thought of him. He was all that she had ever wanted in a man. He was tall, dark and handsome. He had black hair, brown eyes, a lean attractive face, a marvelous smile which showed off his splendid white teeth, a strong clear speaking voice and broad shoulders. What more could a girl ask?

She sighed again and pulled the pale woolen frock over her head, zipped up the fastening, smoothed the material over her hips, and reached for her pearls. She put on the pearl earrings to match, gave her lips a second coating of lipstick, and looked for the last time into her mirror. She looked good. No doubt about it. If only she were going out with John!

She heard the front door bell ring. Henry had arrived. She glanced at her clock on the dressing able. Seven o’clock exactly. He was always punctual. Dead on time. She heard the front door being opened, the sound of voices, and then her mother’s footsteps coming up the stairs. In another moment her mother entered the room.

‘Look darling,’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘Isn’t Henry kind? He’s brought you these gorgeous flowers and this little present.’ She held out an enormous bunch of dark red roses, and a small square parcel. ‘He says he wants you to wear what’s in the parcel this very evening. He’s so thoughtful and charming. I can’t think why you don’t like him.’

Sheila took the roses, and sniffed at them dutifully. ‘Lovely,’ she said.

‘I’ll open the parcel darling,’ said her mother, ‘while you put on your coat. I wonder what he’s brought. Mustn’t keep Henry waiting though. He’s got a taxi outside.’

‘I’m engaged to John,’ said Sheila resentfully. ‘I shouldn’t accept any presents except flowers from Henry.’

‘Rubbish!’ exclaimed Mrs. Francis. ‘How old fashioned you are! Of course you should.’

Sheila put on her new cherry red coat, while her mother opened the parcel with little cries of anticipatory joy. ‘Oh darling,’ she breathed. ‘Look! Isn’t it enchanting?’

In a small square box lay a small brown brooch. It was in the shape of a curious little animal, with a pointed nose, and two unwinking eyes. Its round little body was covered with long silky fur. It had four tiny webbed feet, and the pin on which it was resting was gold. A minute gold collar round its neck was fastened by a gold chain to the brooch-pin, which was long and pointed like a miniature sword.

‘Put it on,’ cooed Mrs. Francis girlishly. ‘What a lucky girl you are! And what an original brooch!’

Sheila took it out of the box, and to her surprise the body of the little animal was squashy. For some reason this unnerved her. She looked at it with a slight feeling of disgust, staring at the beady expressionless eyes, then she pinned it on to her coat. Was it her imagination or did those unwinking eyes gleam for a moment in satisfaction? Of course it was imagination.

‘It’s absolutely darling!’ fussed her mother gaily. ‘I’ve never seen anything so sweet, and you look sweet too my dear.’ She kissed her daughter fondly. ‘Now come downstairs my poppet or Henry will be getting impatient.’

Henry was standing in front of the fire warming his round fat backside. He waved his hands at her cheerfully when she walked in, and complimented her on her appearance. Just for a moment as his eyes rested on the brooch Sheila thought she saw the same gleam of satisfaction that she had imagined in the animal’s eyes, but it was gone so quickly that she couldn’t be sure.

Her mother was fussing round them. Would Henry have a drink? — No he wouldn’t thank you — or they would be late for dinner. Where were they going? To the Arlington? How lovely — Such good food, and such a charming atmosphere. Terribly expensive though, naughty Henry. But of course they must be going! The taxi would be costing a fortune. And how madly extravagant to take a taxi all the way out to the Arlington. Not a taxi but a hired car? Worse and worse, naughty boy. But we’re only young once. Sheila listened to the conversation in exasperation. Really how silly her mother could be sometimes. Why couldn’t she grow up? And Henry with his bland face and over-polite manners, was a pain in the neck.

They drove out to the Arlington more or less in silence; Sheila feeling depressed and Henry apparently lost in his own thoughts and when they reached the roadhouse, Henry told the chauffeur to get himself some dinner, as they wouldn’t want him for an hour and a half. Then he piloted Sheila through into the ornate dining room.

With John, Sheila would have enjoyed herself. Though the Arlington was bogus Elizabethan in style and the place almost deserted, the food really was excellent, and Henry insisted on plenty of drink. Sherry first, white wine with the fish, red wine with the meat, and he was now ordering a sweet white wine for the sweet. Chateau Yquem.

‘But I couldn’t!’ Sheila protested. ‘Firstly because my head is swimming. Secondly because I don’t want a sweet.’

‘I do,’ said Henry. ‘I want crepe suzette.’ His pale blue eyes were shining moistly, and his cheeks were flushed.

‘Goodness you are going it!’ exclaimed Sheila.

In spite of all the drink she had had, and the fact that she had spoken the truth when she said her head was swimming, part of her brain was active and wary. Something was not right with the evening. Why was Henry so pleased with himself? This was to be the farewell dinner because Sheila was marrying John. Henry had professed himself broken-hearted at the news, so what was he excited about?

While he ate his crepe Suzette she watched him speculatively. He was not an attractive sight. He ate it greedily and managed to flick little bits of it round his rosebud mouth, which therefore had to be wiped carefully from time to time.

Finally the time came for coffee, and Henry insisted on brandy for them both, and a cigar for himself, and now he began to talk garrulously to her: mostly about himself. He told her of his lonely childhood, with only a widowed and possessive mother to bring him up and of the way he had overcome his loneliness by inventing imaginary games, and dreaming Walter Mitty dreams. He told her that he had been very unpopular at school, and of how in the end he had found that he could only obtain the praise and attention he craved by being the biggest swot in school. He told her that he had developed such a taste for being top in everything, that even now he couldn’t bear to lose. He was highly competitive he said, but now he had found a way of always winning no matter what the odds against him were.

Sheila looked at him in surprise. She didn’t like to mention that as far as she was concerned he had lost, but Henry brought up the conversation himself. ‘Take you and me for instance,’ he said softly. ‘You think you’ll be marrying John and not me, don’t you?’

‘I know it,’ replied Sheila.

‘You wouldn’t like to change your mind about me? You’re exactly the kind of girl I’d like to marry, and I’d make you a good husband.’

‘You’re very kind,’ said Sheila, ‘and I’m very flattered, but you see I’m in love with John.’

‘In love! In love!’ sneered Henry. ‘That’s what they all say, but being in love doesn’t last. Being a good husband does.’

‘I’ll take my chance,’ laughed Sheila.

Henry looked at her reproachfully with his moist staring blue eyes. ‘You shouldn’t laugh,’ he said reprovingly. ‘For one thing, it isn’t quite the thing under the circumstances, and for another, your mother should have taught you that he who laughs best laughs last, and I meant what I said you know, I never lose. You’ll never marry John.’ He changed the conversation abruptly. ‘How do you like the little brooch?’ he asked.

Sheila fingered it, and looked down at it politely.

‘It’s sweet,’ she said.

‘It’s a vo-do,’ said Henry.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘They’re very rare. It’s a kind of mouse. The true ancestor of the bat.’

‘I don’t like bats,’ said Sheila.

‘Well it isn’t a bat, it’s a mouse. Besides there are all sorts of bats, from the English domestic bats to the cave bats in India and vampires.’

‘Don’t!’ said Sheila shuddering slightly. ‘I told you I hate all bats.’

‘Look!’ said Henry, ‘I’ll show you something.’ He slipped the gold collar off the little animal’s neck. ‘I’m going to take the vo-do off the brooch pin, and it will stick by its feet to your coat. It has prehensile feet. They can stick to anything, and how ever much you shake the coat, it won’t fall off.’ He slipped the creature’s collar and put it on the coat.

‘You speak about it as though it’s alive,’ said Sheila.

‘Do I?’ asked Henry. ‘That’s foolish of me.’ He raised the brandy glass. ‘Is this goodbye Sheila?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid so,’ answered Sheila.

‘I’ll give you one more chance to change your mind,’ said Henry, ‘because I like you better than most of the others.’

‘What others?’ asked Sheila.

‘The other girls,’ replied Henry vaguely. He waited a moment, then clicked glasses. ‘Goodbye Sheila.’

‘To you,’ said Sheila.

Henry laughed. ‘Thank you my dear,’ he said. ‘I shall be fine.’

He relapsed into a pleased silence, they both finished the drinks, and Henry stubbed out his cigar. He beckoned the waiter and paid for the bill.

‘I thought we wouldn’t go straight home,’ he said. ‘I’ll take over the car from the chauffeur and we’ll go to Fox’s the gaming house and have a little gamble. What do you say?’

‘No thanks,’ said Sheila. ‘I don’t like gambling. Besides I’m rather tired.’

‘Pity,’ murmured Henry, ‘but the choice is yours.’

He steered her out to the car, and said to the chauffeur, ‘Brown, I’ve decided to drive the car home myself. Can you find your own way back?’

Before the chauffeur had time to reply, Henry seized Sheila in his arms and said, ‘John will never marry you I tell you. Not if I live to be a hundred!’ He kissed her violently, and she began struggling to get free. The chauffeur was embarrassed and turned away, and the doorman raised his eyes to heaven.

When he finally let go, Sheila was furious. ‘Don’t you dare do that again Henry,’ she said, ‘or I’ll slap your face.’

Henry laughed for the second time that evening and seized her again. ‘I shall do what I please,’ he said. He kissed her long and passionately. Again Sheila struggled violently.

‘I’m certainly not coming back with you,’ said Sheila when she was once again free of him. ‘I’d sooner die.’

‘Just as you like,’ said Henry smiling, but now there was venom in his voice.

‘Get me a taxi,’ went on Sheila turning to the doorman. ‘At once.’

‘We’ll never get a taxi at this time of night, Madam,’ said the doorman. ‘It’s impossible.’

‘A hired car then.’

‘It will take some time Madam.’

‘Then I’ll walk,’ said Sheila angrily.

‘Don’t be a silly girl,’ said Henry. ‘It’s three miles. You can’t walk all that way by yourself at this time of night.’

‘I don’t care. I’d rather do anything than get in the car with you.’

‘Very well,’ said Henry, ‘if you’re determined to be a fool, I can’t help you.’ He stepped into the car, and told the astonished driver to drive on.

For a moment Sheila hesitated, then she set off down the road for the three mile walk home. It was only nine o’clock after all, and a fine night, with a full moon, so with any luck she wouldn’t be too late back, and she wasn’t wearing high heels, so she’d be able to walk quite fast.

To her surprise there weren’t many cars about; in fact she had never realized until this moment what an isolated road it was, but this after all made walking easier. She set off at a spanking pace. After about a mile she felt a small prick in her neck. Startled she put her hand to her throat, and found that the animal from the brooch had shifted to the top of her collar. For some reason this frightened her, though she realized there must obviously be a simple explanation for what seemed a disturbing phenomenon. She’d shifted its feet by walking so fast perhaps. She tried to pull it off to put it further down the coat, but she couldn’t move it. It was stuck fast to the cloth. She then saw by the light of the moon that there was blood on her finger. Odd. With a slight feeling of panic she attacked the brooch again and this time she felt a sharp prick on her thumb. Or was it a prick? It almost felt like a bite. And now too she began to feel slightly dizzy. There was a strange sort of mist in front of her eyes and a thrumming in her ears. She shook her head to clear it, and decided to sit for a moment on the grass verge, but immediately she was bitten a second time on the neck, and when in a kind of frenzy she tried to remove the animal brooch altogether she found to her horror that it was twice the size.

Now a real panic seized her. She began running down the road, with tears streaming down her face. ‘The next car,’ she thought frantically. ‘The very next car that comes, I’ll stop and hitch a lift.’ But no car came.

The brooch swelled larger and larger and became heavier and heavier, until at last she could run no longer, and now instead of sticking to the coat, the animal was fastened all the time to her throat. She could feel its teeth exploring her skin. It bit her again and then most horrifyingly of all it began to suck her blood. She began screaming and screaming. But no-one heard her. She struggled with it and pulled at it but it only sucked deeper, swelling monstrously all the time while its leathery front feel clawed at her face. She lurched all over the road screaming and crying but no-one saw her to come to her rescue. With a last agonized cry she fell to the ground and the enormous animal now on top of her tore at her flesh.

When she was found, she was dead in the ditch. There were bite marks all over her neck and face and deep pits which were like pot holes of blood. Her jugular vein had been cleanly severed and one eye was lying on the grass beside her. Attached to her coat was a small gold sword on a chain. The fur animal had gone.

Henry was never connected with her death since he had a perfect alibi, and Sheila’s foolish mother, though she wondered where the sweet little animal off the brooch had got to, never connected it with her daughter’s death either.

One or two motorists on the road reported having seen an animal like a giant hedgehog with silky fur, running quite rapidly on the path by the road. But the vo-do was never captured and mysterious deaths now occur regularly in the district every full moon.
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