THE WORM WAGON
by
Ray St. Louis
Once upon a time, in a village in some forgotten and faraway corner of the world, on a dusty road leading into
that village, an old man appeared. Behind him the old man pulled a wagon. The wagon was made entirely from
wood. Like the old man, the wagon was rough and weathered and creaked when it moved. It was all the old man
could do to pull it.
As he passed, the people living along the road scarcely noticed the old man. Or, if they did, they saw just
another weary traveler, another dust-covered vagabond pulling a rickety old wagon no doubt filled with all his
earthly possessions, meager and pitiful as they were.
“What a sad old man,” people said. That is, if they noticed him, if they even saw the old man at all.
Down the dusty road the old man pulled his rickety wagon. Eventually, the road changed from dirt to
cobblestone as he started coming into the town. Past shops and houses he pulled his wagon, its wooden wheels
click-clacking on the uneven stones, its rusty axel creaking even louder than before.
Through busy intersections he continued, where horses and carriages nearly ran him down. Then through the
bustling village market where round faced women in scarves or leather faced men with mustaches haggled with
shopkeepers over the price of a cabbage or a fish.
Until, finally, the old man found the village square nestled in between the Town Hall, the jail, the police station,
and the town’s only church.
The old man pulled the wagon to the center of the square, and he left it there. Then, he disappeared.
The first person to come by was a man of business, an important man of business. In fact, to Mr. Goodentite’s
way of thinking, he was the most important man of business in the entire town. As he walked briskly across the
square (Mr. Goodentite always walked briskly because he was a very busy man) he spotted the rickety old
wagon out of the corner of his eye.
“Hmmm, that’s odd,” Mr. Goodentite mumbled after stopping dead in his tracks, heels together and shoulders
back, his formidable belly protruding. He cocked his head to one side and peered through the spectacles
perched on the end of his nose. “It appears someone has left an unattended wagon in the middle of the square.
I wonder if I have time to investigate.”
Mr. Goodentite pulled his watch out of his vest pocket and calculated he had exactly two minutes and 43
seconds to spare before his next appointment. He was a very precise man, Mr. Goodentite was.
“Time is money,” he always said. And if there was one thing in the whole wide world that Mr. Goodentite
understood, it was the value of money. People often said that if ever there was a way to make money at
something, Mr. Goodentite would find it.
Having decided he could afford a brief amount of time to investigate, Mr. Goodentite approached the wagon. But
before looking inside, he first gave the wagon itself a thorough visual inspection. “Quite old, I should say,” Mr.
Goodentite harrumphed, “but still usable. A perfectly good wagon. Cardinal rule: never leave one’s possessions
unsecured in public. Cardinal rule of ownership, I say.” Mr. Goodentite shook his cane as he spoke, making his
point quite emphatically to imaginary and unseen listeners. Then, slowly, he bent forward, extending his head
until he could just see over the edge of the wagon’s sidewall.
“Hello, what’s this?” Goodentite exclaimed, his eyes growing wide. “It’s a wagon full of worms!” Immediately the
worms rose up and started to squirm like a thousand grasping fingers. “Hmmm, spunky little things at that,” Mr.
Goodentite said. “Why, a person could start a worm farm with spunky worms like these. Then sell them to
farmers to fertilize their fields. Or to fishermen to bait their hooks. Yessir, an enterprising person could make a
lot of money with these worms.”
Mr. Goodentite took a look around and saw that he was alone in the square. “Appalling,” he said, “leaving one’s
stock of worms unattended on a city street. Why, someone could steal them. Careless people don’t deserve fine
worms like these. Someone ought to teach those careless people a lesson.”
By now, Mr. Goodentite’s two minutes and 43 seconds were just about up. He took one more look around, saw
that he was still quite alone, and decided to act. “I shall take possession of these worms,” he proclaimed.
“Besides, if I don’t, someone else will. Law of the jungle, it is. Early bird catches the worm… or worms in this
case. Come along my squiggly little friends. I do not know whose worms you used to be, but now you are MINE!”
He reached down to take hold of the wagon, and the closer his hand got, the more agitated the worms became.
They began to glow and make a humming sort of noise.
Brighter and brighter they glowed; louder and louder they hummed. Until finally, at the moment Mr. Goodentite’s
hand touched the wagon, there was a loud “POP” followed by a blinding flash of light and a puff of white smoke.
And when the smoke had cleared, Mr. Goodentite had turned…into a pig.
And he squealed…and he snorted…and he streaked through the town scaring people half to death. In and out
of shops did he scurry, at one point barely escaping a butcher with a cleaver who had intentions of turning the
fat little pig into succulent hams and sausages. Until finally, he made his way past the edge of town and into the
country to a pig farm where he spent the rest of his days with all the other pigs feeding at the trough.
The next person to come along was a lady. Not just any lady, but a very respectable lady. In fact, to Mrs.
Snottlegrass’s way of thinking, she was the most respectable lady in the entire town. After all, she was the wife
of the vicar of the town’s church.
As she was walking by, back erect and head held high, she noticed the wagon in the middle of the square.
“Good heavens,” Mrs. Snottlegrass remarked; “I believe that is the dirtiest, ugliest, grimiest, most thoroughly
unpleasant wagon I have ever laid my eyes upon. It should be burned, or at least disinfected, or at the very
least removed from sight.”
As she spoke these last words, Mrs. Snottlegrass scrunched up her face as if she’d bitten into something sour.
Disgusting, she thought, what some people will leave lying about. Then she turned and began to walk away.
“What am I doing?” she said. “I cannot simply walk away. After all, I AM the chairwoman of the Village
Beautification Committee. I believe it is my duty to address the problem of the offending wagon immediately.”
With that, Mrs. Snottlegrass marched right up to the wagon with the intention of grabbing unto its handle and
pulling it away. But as she got closer, she began to rethink her plan.
“I cannot remove this wagon myself,” she reasoned. “I am the wife of the vicar. It would not look right for a
woman of my stature to stoop to such a menial task. I must get some lesser person to do it.”
She stopped just a few feet from the wagon and looked around. “I REQUIRE ASSISTANCE,” she demanded. “I
NEED A CONSTABLE OR A STREET SWEEP IMMEDIATELY!”
Alas, there was not a soul in the square to hear Mrs. Snottlegrass’s plea. “Fiddle faddle,” she complained; “I
shall have to do it myself.”
She marched up to the edge of the wagon and reached down for the handle. As she bent over, she caught a
glimpse of the wagon’s contents.
“Horrors!” she cried. “This wagon is infested with worms! How thoroughly revolting! I shall dispose of them at
once.”
She reached again for the wagon’s handle, and immediately all the worms stood straight up and began to
squirm. They were all pink and wet and reminded Mrs. Snottlegrass of little wiggling people.
“Good Heavens, they’re all naked!”
She could not have been more appalled. “We have laws in this village against public displays of depravity,” Mrs.
Snottlegrass scolded. She reached a final time for the wagon’s handle, and all the worms began to glow. Then
came the humming sound. “These worms are possessed by a demon,” Mrs. Snottlegrass shrieked. “I must
destroy them at once!”
Closer and closer her hand reached. Brighter and brighter the worms glowed. Louder and louder the worms
hummed. Until finally, at the moment her hand touched the wagon’s handle, there was a loud “POP” followed by
a bright flash of light and a puff of white smoke.
And when the smoke cleared, Mrs. Snottlegrass had turned…into a bat.
And she screeched…and she scratched…and she screamed through the town scaring people half to death. In
and out of gables, towers and attics did she fly, at one point barely escaping an old woman with a broom who
tried to swat her. Until finally, the bat came to roost in the church belfry. There she spent the rest of her days
looking down upon the square and all the little townspeople who were all, now there could be no doubt, quite
beneath her.
The next person to enter the square was an important man of public affairs. In fact, to the Honorable Mr.
Huffenpuff’s way of thinking, he was the most important man of public affairs in the entire town. After all, he was
the town’s mayor.
His Honor wore a long-tailed coat and a tall felt hat, and was followed everywhere he went by several “advisors”
who scurried behind and carried in their hands little notepads so they could write down every instruction or pearl
of wisdom that fell from the Honorable Mr. Huffenpuff’s lips. At the moment, he was attempting to compose the
speech that he was to deliver that very afternoon in the town square.
As he strode (his Honor always took very long and stately strides as befitting a man of his stature) he threw out
ideas for his speech, to which each and every one of his advisors would remark, “That’s a wonderful idea!” then
they would quickly write it down in their little notepads.
“No it’s not a wonderful idea,” the Honorable Mr. Huffenpuff scolded. “It’s a tired old idea. You are all just saying
it’s a wonderful idea to please me. I need something new. Something to grab the imagination. Something that
proves I am a man of vision.”
“That’s a very good point sir,” all the advisors said in unison.
“Balderdash!” the Honorable Mr. Huffenpuff barked.
At that moment, the frustrated mayor spotted the wagon just a few stately strides away. “What’s this?” he asked.
“It appears to be some sort of wagon, sir,” the gaggle of advisors chirped.
“I can see that it is a wagon. What is it doing here?” The Honorable Mr. Huffenpuff approached the rickety old
wagon as his advisors shuffled along behind.
Immediately he looked inside, whereupon all the worms rose up and began to wave from side to side like the
upraised arms of hundreds of gleeful voters.
“Yes, my dear worms,” the mayor stated as if speaking to a crowd of his fellow townspeople. “I see you. I hear
you. I am your friend. You can count on Huffenpuff.”
He reached down as if to shake their tiny little hands, and immediately all the worms began to glow.
“My word,” his Honor said pulling back his hand; “these are very unusual worms.”
“Perhaps they are magic worms, sir,” one of the advisors piped up.
“I don’t believe in magic,’ his Honor said gruffly; “I believe in votes. Nevertheless, you have given me an idea.
Perhaps there is some advantage to be gained from these strange glowing worms. Bring my podium and
assemble the townspeople. I shall deliver my speech at once.”
With that, the advisors scattered to accomplish their assigned tasks while the Honorable Mr. Huffenpuff paced
back and forth in the center of the square composing his speech. Now and then he would stop alongside the
wagon, whereupon he would reach inside to test the worms.
“Excellent!” he said each time as the worms stood straight up and began first to wiggle and then to glow. Then
he would pull back his hand and continue pacing.
Soon the townspeople began to gather; and a podium as well as a platform for the mayor to stand upon were
brought in and placed a few feet behind the rough old wagon. As soon as the square had completely filled with
people, the Honorable Mr. Huffenpuff assumed the podium and began to speak.
"My fellow townspeople,” he started, arms extending in an expansive gesture that was intended to take in the
whole crowd, “this is a glorious day for all of us. Today, I shall give something back to you in return for all you
have done for me. Today, I shall demonstrate that your faith in me has been well placed. Today, I shall bestow
on you a gift. A gift that will make each and every one of you content beyond your wildest dreams.”
A murmur passed through the crowd. What was this precious thing that the mayor was going to give to them?
Sensing their interest, the Honorable Mr. Huffenpuff decided the time was ripe to lay his cards on the table.
“Before you, my fellow townspeople, you see a wagon. The wagon is filled with worms. But these are not
ordinary worms. These are magical worms which I, with the assistance of my advisors, have gathered from the
far corners of the world at great expense and personal sacrifice.”
“Oh my, magical worms!” people buzzed, although some were not quite sure whether to believe it.
“These magic worms,” his Honor continued, “will cause whatever is in your heart to become real. Whatever you
desire, need, hope for, these magic worms will cause it to come to pass.”
“Psst, how do we know that, sir?” one of the advisors whispered.
“Shut up, will you!” the mayor whispered back.
“Of course,” his Honor continued, “ I must point out that it may take some time. Don’t expect the magic worms to
work overnight. But I promise you that if you have faith, and if you work hard and persevere, and if you vote for
me in the next election, whatever you wish for will come true.”
Well, this was a little too good to be true. A feeling of uneasiness spread through the crowd. How were they to
know if the mayor’s outrageous claims were correct?
Sensing their misgivings, the Honorable Mr. Huffenpuff came down from the podium and positioned himself
directly behind the wagon. “Listen my fellow townspeople,” he called out, “If these were not magical worms, could
they do this?” The mayor thrust his hand into the wagon very nearly touching the worms, whereupon they all
began to glow so brightly and hum so loudly that even those in the back could see and hear. Another murmur
passed through the crowd, which began to press forward. The mayor’s advisors surrounded the wagon in an
attempt to hold them back, while the crowd continued to murmur and shuffle in a restless fashion.
A shadow of doubt passed across the mind of the mayor. “I hope I haven’t worked them into too much of a
frenzy,” he whispered to the nearest advisor.
“Too late to stop now, your Honor,” the advisor whispered back.
“You’re right,” the mayor agreed; “alright, here goes.”
Then, with his loudest, most statesmen-like, most electable voice, the Honorable Mr. Huffenpuff shouted out the
fateful words, “ALL THOSE WHO WANT A MAGIC WORM, COME AND GET IT!”
Like a great wave, the entire assembled mass of humanity surged toward the wagon. “HOLD THEM BACK!” the
suddenly terrified mayor shouted to his advisors but to no avail. Closer and closer they pressed. “ONE AT A
TIME, ONE AT A TIME! The Honorable Mr. Huffenpuff pleaded.
“ONE AT A TIME!” the advisors repeated as, one by one, they were swept over and swallowed by the surging
crowd. As the crowd closed in, a light emerged from the wagon growing brighter by the moment until it became a
glowing beacon shining up into the sky. Little by little the whining hum of the aroused worms grew deafening.
The worms themselves seemed to grow larger until they were sticking out above the wagon’s walls.
Until finally, the frantic mayor, the remainder of his hapless advisors, and the worm wagon itself disappeared
from sight as the inner circle collapsed shut like a blinking eye. At that moment there was an explosion of sound
and light followed by a huge cloud of white smoke, which engulfed the entire square and all those within.
And when the smoke cleared, all the assembled townspeople had turned…into sheep.
And the mayor’s advisors had turned…into mice.
And the honorable Mr. Huffenpuff had turned…into a wolf.
And he howled…and he growled…and he prowled through the town causing the mice to scatter and scaring the
poor sheep half to death. To the edge of town and then beyond into the woods did the wolf pursue the hapless
sheep, at one point barely escaping a hunter with a blunderbuss who tried to shoot him. Until finally, the wolf
took refuge in a hollow log at the end of a grassy pasture where he spent the rest of his days lying in wait for
unsuspecting sheep to prey upon.
Meanwhile, back in the village, two smallish figures entered the square and approached the wagon. The two
were dressed in rags, and anyone could see (had there been anyone left in the town to see them) that they
were children. In fact, they were the town’s two most recognizable children (had there been anyone left in the
town to recognize them), Jack and Sally, who were brother and sister. Not only that, they were also orphans who
often could be seen begging around town for a bowl of soup or a crust of bread.
“I wonder where all the people went,” Sally asked.
“I don’t know,” Jack answered.
“Who will give us food if all the people are gone?” Sally wondered.
“I don’t know,” Jack repeated. “Maybe there is something for us to eat in this wagon.”
Cautiously they walked up to the wagon and peered inside. “It’s filled with worms!” Jack said with astonishment.
“I don’t think I can eat worms,” Sally said.
“I can eat anything when I’m hungry enough,” Jack said; “and right now, I’m really hungry.” He reached inside to
grab a handful of worms, and immediately, they all rose up and started to squirm. “There’s something wrong with
these worms,” Jack said pulling his hand back.
“Maybe they’re too crowded,” Sally said. “Maybe they want to get out of that wagon.”
Jack reached again toward the squirming worms. This time the worms became even more agitated and started
to glow and hum. The closer he brought his hand, the brighter they glowed and the louder they hummed until,
when his hand was but a few inches away, the light grew blinding and the hum deafening.
“I think you’re right,” Jack said to Sally. “They don’t like it in the wagon. They want to be somewhere else.”
“I’ll bet they’re hungry too,” said Sally, “and thirsty.”
“We should take them someplace where it’s wet and the ground is soft,” Jack said.
“And shady, they’re burning up in the sun,” Sally added.
“We should take them to the river. The ground is soft and there’s shade there,” Jack suggested. Sally agreed.
Jack reached his hand cautiously toward the worm wagon, but this time not much happened. There was only a
faint glow, and no humming. Jack shrugged and took hold of the wagon’s handle, whereupon he heard a small
“POP” followed by the tiniest little puff of smoke. At the same moment, both Jack and Sally felt a slight tingle.
They took the wagon down to the bank of the river just beyond the edge of town. There they let the worms go.
Quickly the worms burrowed into the soft ground and disappeared. Then the two orphans started pulling the
wagon back to the town square because that was where they had found it.
As Jack and Sally came into town, they saw that the townspeople had returned and were beginning to go about
their usual business, although some who were engaged in conversation spoke with a strange bleating sound
that crept every now and then into the discussion. And, when they passed the village market, they saw several
of the mayor’s advisors hungrily eyeing a big piece of cheese. Then, after returning the wagon to the exact spot
in the center of the square where they had found it, Jack and Sally left in search of food themselves since, by
now, they were both quite hungry.
Later that night, after dark, after all of the townspeople had gone to sleep, the old man reappeared. Not a soul
saw him as he slipped into the town square, took hold of the wagon’s handle and started pulling. The old man
left the town and was never heard from again, although the next day people in the neighboring village found a
rickety old wagon full of worms in the middle of their town square.
As for the orphans, Jack grew up to be a wealthy farmer. His crops always grew bigger and taller than all the
other farmers.
“What’s your secret?” they would ask.
“Good worms,” Jack always replied.
And Sally? She grew up to be the town’s mayor. People said she was the most fair-minded mayor the town had
ever had. The Honorable Mayor Sally always attributed her success to “good advisors” although no one ever
saw them. They must have lived down by the riverbank, however, because that is where the Honorable Mayor
Sally always went when she needed advice.