The Badlings

Chapter 13. Down the Caterpillar Hole

How fascinating would it be to visit all the books you have ever read? You know perfectly well who lives on their pages, but what about between them? What about characters that get lost, disfigured, or worse, depart from life? Where do they go?

Our friends were about to find out.

They crept on their hands and knees through tunnel after tunnel after tunnel. Scattered light that seeped out of nowhere illuminated the fibrous walls, made of grey paper pulp. The air smelled like wet cardboard, and it got colder the deeper they went. It wouldn't have been half bad, if not for a new unexpected problem.

First one, then a couple more, then a whole cluster of ghostly shapes appeared, casually floating in the air. They quivered and curled and fizzed. And then they started talking.

"Badlings," they whispered, "look, here come new badlings...where are you off to...stay with us...we are in no hurry...we have no homes...why won't you talk to us...we are so lonely..."

"What are these things?" whispered Peacock.

"They're like jellyfish!" Rusty stretched out a hand.

"Um," said Grand. "I don't think it's a good idea to touch them."

"Why not, man? They're so cool and slimy. Look, I think they like it." The shape he stroked undulated, its empty mouth stretching into something that could be called a creepy smile.

"You and your petting, Rusty. Leave them alone. Let's keep moving," said Bells crossly and then suddenly stopped.

Peacock bumped into her. "What's the holdup?"

She stared at a yawning face next to her.

"Badling..." sighed the face, "lovely badling...stay with us...there is no hurry..."

"Er," said Bells, "I'm really sorry, whoever you are, but we need to get out of here to get to the next page. If you don't mind?"

But the apparition did mind. It was joined by scores of others who blocked the tunnel with a multitude of their foggy bodies, reducing the visibility to that of milk.

"Fantastic," commented Peacock. "What are we going to do now?"

"Move forward, you dupe," snapped Bells. "What else?"

"Hey, I thought we agreed on not calling me names."

Bells regarded him with a stink eye. "We didn't agree on anything, and I will keep calling you names until you stop asking stupid questions and acting like a coward."

Peacock was about to parry, but a particularly large phantom sallied up to within an inch of his nose and hung there, whispering garbled nonsense. "Shoo. Shoo!" He waved it away. His fingers passed through its gelatinous surface and he uttered a horrified whimper.

"There is my proof," said Bells and rolled her eyes to solidify the sweet feeling of superiority.

"Rusty, you sure it's not going to bite off your hand?" asked Grand worriedly.

Rusty, unperturbed, an exuberant grin shining on his face, was petting something teethy and horrendous. It didn't exactly have a body or any kind of a presence, except an ethereal head that seemed to enjoy the attention. It tilted back so Rusty could scratch whatever was left of its neck.

"Over here...yes, right here...a bit to the left..." it directed him in a nasal voice. "Ohhh...this feels so good...I haven't been properly scratched in a millennia..."

"You're not alone...move over...it's our turn now..." murmured the voices belonging to a line of spooks that were eager for some tenderness.

Grand pulled Rusty by the hand, breaking this lovely exchange of pleasantries to the pouty dismay of the apparitions that immediately glided after Rusty, nuzzling to him to solicit another dose of affection.