In Search of the Alter Dom

by Jack Challis

  Blodwyn’s acting abilities were to stand her in good stead, in her coming adventures – often saving her life when dealing with certain aliens, unfamiliar with human female theatricals.

  Blodwyn missed her best friend: a Silky Changeling had now taken Myfanwy’s place in the Jenkins home; unknown to her parents! At first Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins were dismayed at Myfanwy’s new found affinity with water; her urge to enter deep pools and swim far out to sea. Then there was their once finicky daughter’s sudden appetite for sushi. Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins put Myfanwy’s new quirky behaviour down to the rising hormones of a sixteen year old soon approaching seventeen.

  She often noticed the lovely Silky who masqueraded as Myfanwy, sadly gazing out to Cardigan Bay, yearning to return to the cold green sea. (The Silky Changeling, an exact replica of Myfanwy, would serve her adopted parents well; until their deaths. The Silky would cry at her surrogate parent’s funeral; but that very night the Silky would leave the Jenkins home forever and walk towards the sea shore. After undressing the Silky would enter the cold sea and swim back to far off Sulky bay: to rejoin her kin – her duty done.)

  Blodwyn did not fully realize how much Myfanwy’s personality had changed since becoming Queen of the Lings.

  A stocky figure stepped onto the path blocking Blodwyn’s way! It was the bull-necked bully Caddoc Morgan. Blodwyn felt her stomach knot with fear! But she resolved to keep her composure and dignity knowing a bully’s courage feeds on fear.

  Caddoc had a large jam stain on his T-shirt, just above a printed rude word. His jeans were hanging at half-mast – like some overweight builder. A pair of fat-flaccid love handles hung over his belt; peering at the outside world like curious, obese hamsters. ‘I am going to punch you in the guts and twist your arm – see!’ says Caddoc, his fat fists clenched and small hog-like eyes glinting. ‘Your big staring eyes remind me of Bryn Jones the dirty bloody tramp – when he’s pissed.’ Caddoc’s bullying did not stop when his victims were safe in their homes – he loved sending threatening texts.

  Caddoc Moran’s thick skull was wasted protecting such a small, mean brain. His bull neck supported an over-large melon shaped head; basin-cut, pug nose and a small, but very capable goby-like mouth, that could somehow stretch over the biggest burger. All the above physicalities were perched on a squat body; held up by solid powerful legs. These physical attributes made Caddoc strong for his age. Caddoc was an only child; a younger sibling would not have survived – for there was cuckoo in Caddoc’s blood. Moreover, like a cuckoo he was bigger than both his diminutive parents – nor did he bear any resemblance to either of them – a point his father ‘Morgan the Milk’ often pondered.

  Caddoc could never extract enough sweets from his victims to satisfy his insatiable craving. Blodwyn once heard Morgan the Milk say: “Giving Caddoc sweets – is like feeding buns to an elephant.”

  ‘You touch me and my dad will know about it,’ answers Blodwyn.

  ‘I will take your Dad to court for assault, see!’ Caddoc threatens.

  Anger began to match Blodwyn’s fear. ‘You hurt me and I will scratch your little piggy eyes out – you will look lovely at college tomorrow!’

  Caddoc took a threatening step forward – then stopped in his tracks looking over Blodwyn’s shoulder. The rough voice of Bryn Jones the local wino rang out. ‘Caddoc – you little fat, snot-gobbling sod – I will break your bloody neck – you stole a trout out of my trap.’

  Caddoc Morgan took immediate flight; he knew Bryn Jones did not give a damn about the law that protected young delinquents.

  Blodwyn reached the enchanted glade. She still felt angry and shaken by her nasty experience. “Something will have to be done about Caddoc,” she vowed – perhaps Grunwalde could help – she was above the law!

  A smell of wild woodbine: a Ling pheromone, hung suspended on the still, warm June air; the glade looked deserted and rather frightening!

  A pale pastel curtain of light hung in front of her – a ‘Prism Window.’ Blodwyn hesitated: Prism Windows are dangerous to enter – you never knew where you would end up – or if you could ever get back! Blodwyn stood perfectly still before the Prism Window. She was not a girl to make rash decisions. Suddenly two small Sislings appeared like giant colorful, angry hornets investigating an intruder near their nest. The Sislings, smallest of the Lings, hovered close in front of Blodwyn’s face, their small antenna twitching; their keen noses sniffing. Recognizing Blodwyn’s smell, they greeted her with cheeky grins and raised eyebrows above black button eyes: showing razor sharp pointed teeth!

  (The distant ancestors of Sislings were giant wasps that once lived on Venus before the planet died. They were the only Lings who could also sting as well as bite! The more bug-like Sisling were not as beautiful as Maylings, whose ancestors were beautiful giant butterflies, or the lovely water-loving Narlings; who evolved from dragonflies.)

  Reassured Blodwyn stepped through the Prism Window safely. She deliberately ignored three powerful chimp size male Tartarus Hobs squatting on a rock. Their physical demeanor; foul damp doggie smell, nakedness, their grunts and cackles offended all her keen senses. These muscular, dew-clawed armed Hobs were no grinning fairytale goblins, with funny hats. They were black, beady bullet eyed, bristling brutes, with jutting jaws – armed with strong yellow teeth – that could bite through any car tyre! A Tartarus Hob resembled a cross between a hyena, rottweiler, and male chimp! Being lowly males, Tartarus Hobs were bottom of the Ling pecking order. The three Hobs softly cackled, grunting as if sharing some private rude joke at Blodwyn’s expense. They leered at her as she passed. Blodwyn gave the three Hobs her most withering look and walked on.

  She noticed many large russet brown cocoons hanging half hidden in the leafy shadows; freckled by dancing sunbeams.

  “My God,” something was alive – moving, struggling to get out, within the nearest cocoon – as if aware and resentful of her presence! This was strange: Lings returned to chrysalis – not cocoons! These cocoons looked much bigger than the Ling chrysalis. “What on Earth were metamorphosing within?” Another thing – some of the oaks and mountain ash trees stood stripped of leaves, as if struck by a plague of locusts – Lings were not leaf eaters.

  A sudden movement to her side made her jump! A being with a sharp, bronze coloured face and golden eyes was staring at her intently – its stare was certainly not friendly. This was no Ling even though it had the same vertical split pupils. The being had a very long pointed proboscis, which looked more like a spike than a nose. Its long sharp teeth were green stained; a half chewed leaf hung at the edge of its mouth – Blodwyn hurried on!

  Lings are most active at fade of day: the glade was stirring. Some Lings watched Blodwyn from the dappled shade. She noticed a pair of gruesome female Barbarus Harpies with withered drooping breasts, hanging upside-down from an oak – their red eyes following her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Grunwalde Angharad: Queen of the Alien Lings

  Daggled Nilks, in liveries of gossamer silks; are raised for war.

  Sharp of eye, fang and claw; they bravely fly low and fast.

  Their speed out-stripping their chasing shadows cast.

  Queen Grunwalde Angharad was her normal self; obviously, she had become bored by constantly changing her size or shape to impress. Grunwalde Angharad was as beautiful as ever. But her complexion was now the colour of pale moonlight. Her eyes sparkled green like wet emeralds. Her full cherry-pie lips were ruby red and her hair shone like burnished gold. Myfanwy’s tall slender body had now become more curvaceous.

  The Queen was dressed in flowing pastels of gossamer shimmers. Blodwyn watched curiously. Lings were dropping delicate dainties into Grunwalde’s ever-ready, sweet cherry-pie mouth. She reminded Blodwyn of a baby bird – willing to swallow anything!

  While two beautiful Maylings braided her long hair; a dark button-eyed Sisling nibbled on Grunwalde’s left toenails, giving her a pedicure, using its razor sharp teeth. A lovely Narling painted the toen
ails of her other foot, a delicate pale pink.

  ‘Ouch – ouch! You spiteful, beastly – bug-eyed – sniveling little sod!’ Grunwalde swears at the grinning Sisling clinging onto her left foot. ‘You did that on purpose – you make me feel sick and ill – get off you little Sapp-sucking cretin before I lampoon and larrup you!’

  The watching Lings howled with laughter; they loved to tease their young Queen and laugh at her Terasil ways. Queen Angharad then pauses and gives out a great burp: she giggles – hand over mouth, green eyes sparkling. The Lings howled with laughter.

  “Charming,” thought Blodwyn. Grunwalde then lifted a chocolate to her cherry-pie mouth with a sigh of pleasure; her nostrils flaring and her naked toes wiggling in greedy anticipation.

  “Gross!” thought Blodwyn. Nevertheless before Grunwalde could close her mouth, a Mayling with incredible speed swooped and snatched the chocolate away, to the amusement of the watching Lings.

  ‘You greedy – horrid little bugger – that was a cream truffle, I had to eat a whole boxful to get to it – I am getting mad!’ Grunwalde warns.

  As if to placate their Queen, a Sisling dropped another morsel into her mouth. Grunwalde tasted…. ‘Yuk – Yuk,’ she cries pulling a face and spitting the morsel out. ‘That tasted of squirrels’ shit – you know I hate hazelnuts!’ All the Lings howled with laughter.

  ‘You nasty little swines – you wait – I’ll bite you!’ Grunwalde threatens; exposing her perfect, sparkling white teeth and chomping them in biting mode. The Lings again howled with laughter.

  ‘That’s it!’ Grunwalde declares. ‘I give you fair warning! If anyone upsets me again – I will gob on them.’ She then went into a child-like huff. ‘I am going to find a muddy puddle and sit right in the middle of it!’ Grunwalde then put on an exaggerated pout – bottom lip protruding – hands on hips.

  “What an actress,” thought Blodwyn, “such childish behavior for a sixteen year old. She should set a better example in manners and stop swearing!”

  Queen Angharad began to lick her face, with an unusually long tongue!

  Blodwyn was becoming annoyed at waiting on Grunwalde’s pleasure; she knew the Queen of the Lings was aware she had arrived.

  ‘Look here – Myfanwy Jenkins.’ (Blodwyn was the only person allowed to use Grunwalde’s real name.) ‘Why have you summoned me? I have work to do at home.’

  ‘You are casting your shadow on my freckles,’ Grunwalde replies haughtily, ‘come and sit by my legs – cariad.’

  Blodwyn knew Grunwalde wanted something. ‘Well,’ says Blodwyn, impatiently – I do not have all day.’

  ‘Have you ever kissed a weasel?’ Grunwalde asks.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Blodwyn answers, ‘you are becoming a proper drama queen – get to the point – why do you want to see me?’

  ‘Why do you wear those horrid thick, cheap spectacles cariad?’ Grunwalde asks trying to fulfill her hidden agenda. ‘I can see all the blood vessels in your eyes – you look like the old mad English woman who swears at passers-by – the one who always smells of pee?’

  ‘Look Myfanwy Jenkins – If I find you are wasting my time I will pull your hair – like I used to when you annoyed me – Queen or no Queen!’

  ‘You would not dare – my Lings would not let you,’ replies Grunwalde.

  ‘Your Lings will laugh,’ answers Blodwyn: tugging up her sleeves in a business like way.

  Grunwalde thought for a moment. ‘Ok – on second thoughts the little buggers will laugh. But please cariad let me give you some good advice – I can improve the way you look – a quick make-over see.’

  Grundwalde gently removes Blodwyn’s spectacles. ‘There, you have lovely green eyes cariad…. nearly as lovely as mine. Don’t wear spectacles anymore.’ Grunwalde puts on Blodwyn’s spectacles and turns facing her Lings; the Lings howled with laughter at the size of their Queen’s scary eyes.

  ‘Now Blodwyn cariad, let me give you a quick eye test,’ says Grunwalde. ‘Look up – can you see the moon peeping through the leaves?’

  ‘Of course I can,’ answers Blodwyn. ‘I am shortsighted – not blind, stupid!’

  ‘The moon is two million miles away,’ says Grunwalde. ‘How far do you want to see?’ The Lings howled again with laughter; Grunwalde giggles. The three Tartarus hobs did not understand the joke, but grunted pretending they did.

  ‘Now, Blodwyn Jones,’ continues Grunwalde, biting into a large muddy carrot, ‘I will give you another clue to improve your eyesight and your looks. What animal does the most damage to your dad’s carrot patch?’

  ‘Wild rabbits of course,’ answers Blodwyn, becoming annoyed.

  ‘Have you ever seen a wild rabbit wearing spectacles?’ Grunwalde asks.

  The Lings howled again with laughter – so did the Tartarus Hobs – they understood this joke.

  ‘That’s not funny Myfanwy Jenkins.’ Blodwyn replies, replacing her spectacles – ‘I am warning you – don’t mention my eyes again!’

  Grunwalde then lifted her bare left foot and placed it under Blodwyn’s nose and wiggled her toes. ‘Don’t you think my lovely toes are the longest, straightest and the prettiest you have ever seen cariad?’ Blodwyn noticed two expensive gold diamond rings on Grunwalde’s toes. Blodwyn ignored the question. ‘Look – stop calling me cariad – you are not my great aunt,’ says Blodwyn. ‘And take your feet out of my face!’

  Grunwalde giggles. ‘Would you like your toes painted, cariad?’

  ‘My mother would kill me!’ answers Blodwyn.

  Grunwalde giggles; hand over mouth, green eyes sparkling.

  ‘Set a better example in manners – stop swearing,’ orders Blodwyn.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful,’ replies Grunwalde. ‘Every time I make a rude noise, and swear the little buggers laugh their heads off – you should hear some of the rude names I call the little….!’

  Suddenly, both girls noticed a small, delightful being shyly observing them. This was no Ling! Blodwyn moved closer, fascinated. This lovely little female being had blue almond eyes with normal pupils, black hair and five fingers and toes. She was much smaller than any Ling. Its wings were round not streamlined like those of a Ling.

  ‘Is that a fairy?’ Blodwyn whispers; afraid to startle the beautiful little being.

  ‘They are called Floranas – we protect them, they are nearly extinct like Silkies – aren’t they delightful?’

  ‘What are their origins?’ asks Blodwyn fascinated. She always hoped fairies existed – if this being was indeed a fairy!

  ‘They are un-christened female babies, who died near midsummer’s Eve, Halloween; or the winter and spring solstices. Female babies – who die in rivers or at sea become Silkies, all other un-christened babies who die, male or female, become Star-Children or angels and float away from Earth!’

  ‘Why are they so rare?’ Blodwyn asks.

  ‘Because the weight of Pagan belief is light, since the druids have gone, only the weight of belief – stops Star-Children drifting – floating upwards away from Earth!’ Grunwalde then lifted a platter of roasted quails onto her lap.

  Blodwyn knew Grunwalde was extracting tithe from local business. ‘Ugh…’ exclaim the attending Lings in disgust – Lings never touched, scale, feather or fur – loving all things sweet.

  ‘Nobody asked your opinion!’ Grunwalde snaps: stuffing two small birds in her mouth at once.

  Blodwyn put on her best impatient look. ‘Myfanwy Jenkins – for the last time, why did you send for me – I will be late home and….’

  Before Blodwyn could finish her sentence, Grunwalde shoved a whole quail deep into Blodwyn’s open mouth, nearly choking her, and giggled!

  While Blodwyn struggled to extract the quail, Grunwalde Angharad threw three quails to the ground. The three Tartarus Hobs pounced; short tufted tails rampant, growling and wrestling like three hungry hyenas. For their only fare was meat, fresh, foul – or putrid! Grunwalde Angharad aimed powerful kicks at their fat, jostling behinds.<
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  ‘Isn’t it fun kicking greedy, groveling goblins, as they gobble greasy gobbets?’ giggles Grunwalde.

  ‘Your Hobs stink of rotten dog!’ says Blodwyn…. ‘their breath is awful!’

  ‘They never wash,’ replies Grunwalde, ‘and eat rotten road-kill – that is why they smell like a vegetarian’s fart!’

  ‘Then get them to wash,’ Blodwyn demands.

  The three Hobs stopped their wrestling immediately; anxiously awaiting their Queen’s response – her word was Lingly law.

  ‘Getting a Tartarus Hob to wash – is like asking a stoat to cuddle a baby rabbit! Get out of my sight you ugly imbeciles.’ orders Grunwalde.

  The three Hobs immediately bounded into the slowly descending gloom; cackling like hyenas, their short tufted tails rampant. The Queen of Lings wipes her greasy mouth on a fine sleeve and lets out another great belch.

  ‘Stop that!’ orders Blodwyn again. All the Lings howled with laughter: some made tiny burps themselves.

  “How Myfanwy Jenkins had changed,” thought Blodwyn, “always a delicate child and a slow eater now she could stuff two quails into her mouth and burp louder than Bryn Jones the wino!”