by Ken Spargo
‘That was horrible. It made my skin all goose bumpy. Thanks Batbit.’
Batbit did a loop of delight. Size didn’t matter in this instance. In a confronting situation against a larger opponent, the deed achieved was more important than the size of the problem.
‘Grunt, how was the aerodynamics? Pretty cool movements, eh,’ gloated Batbit in his moment of glory.
‘How do I get across? I’m frightened,’ cried Davidia. She shook with fear like a tree leaf whose tenuous time as a deciduous leaf gently nudged by the breeze was about to end. She shut her eyes. A voice filtered in on the wind, ‘The truth will see you through.’ Her eyes opened, somewhat glazed, but she took that vital step. Her apparition didn’t reappear and that first step proved positive. She stood on a solid surface. The small pools shimmered with enticement. Unwanted eyes from the deep waited for their prey. Any mistake would be their salvation.
The Sinister watched from afar the jigsaw puzzle being played out. He held any missing pieces and if failure was imminent, he would resolve it with tornado tenacity. There was a hierarchy of evil within the valley. The Sinister couldn’t implement his tirade of anger unless the Jimps had first completely failed. He would then hose retribution on them as damaging as he could muster. Impatience wasn’t the name of a flower for him. Any delay only fuelled his cantankerous behaviour. Tail swirls, water-spitting, wind-gushing at high speed and cloud-dumping were the favourite elements in his armoury of bad behaviour. His winds rumbled as he patrolled the skies. Occasionally, a lightening blast would erupt when he met another huffy wind source. He thought, when is it my turn?
‘Step on the reflections that aren’t you,’ yelled Grunt, still reeling from the shock of seeing himself.
‘I’ll try,’ she said, not feeling very confident. She gingerly stepped over another of her reflections and securely landed safely on the reflection of another life form.
‘Ooh! What are those things swimming in the water?’ asked Davidia, as long, black, dark, slinky, thin lines seemed to move everywhere like underwater spaghetti.
Batbit had guessed it was a Pududdle reed, the antagonist to halt any life form from crossing. It needed little encouragement to entrap any intruder. Nothing ever before had successfully outwitted the Pool of Pududdles by crossing safely.
To cross the pools, it required only ten safely-placed steps. However, they were not all in a straight line. Twists and turns had to be judged perfectly. Grunt twisted and rotated to find his next step, but all he saw was his own reflection. He couldn’t move, stuck in the middle. Batbit hovered like a vacuum cleaner just above the watery surface. Then he skimmed over the pools like a flat, rotating stone bouncing all the way, when he noticed the change in his reflection. He knew he wasn’t a picture perfect postcard, if anything, but he was aware of his own image. He hovered near Grunt.
‘It’s that one next,’ he said, as he dipped his wing in recognition of where to step next. ‘Hurry, my wings are tiring.’
The water felt thick with slime as it settled around Grunt’s legs. Cautiously, he edged closer to the other side. Batbit’s wings began to dip with tiredness. Davidia dutifully followed Grunt’s stepping stone antics. With only one step to go Grunt slipped into the pool. A huge, air bubble bobbed on the surface where he had just been.
‘Mr Grunt, Mr Grunt,’ yelled Davidia in fright. ‘Don’t play games.’ Her favourite friend had disappeared into the murky waters. She began to cry.
A huge clump of black reeds arose from the pool and dived into the air bubble. Suddenly, the turgid water erupted into a whirlpool. Droplets were tossed at random everywhere. It was Grunt spinning wildly to make anyone extremely giddy. He had to shake off the unsightly reeds from the mud-tinged water, which had attempted to trap him. Their sliminess was their downfall. They couldn’t secure a strong enough grip. Grunt popped onto dry land. However, the reeds still had further business to attend to; Davidia. She was surrounded by swirling waters, which was quite a nice name really for a pet horse.
‘Shut your eyes and jump,’ called Grunt.
‘I won’t be able to see,’ she protested. The alternative was unthinkable. A twelve year old working in the fields in servitude for life had no appeal. Her gentle, pink hands would harden over time into a calloused leathery pair, providing she lived long enough to experience the change. She shut her eyes. A voice in her head said, ‘Don’t be afraid.’
‘That’s not you, dad, is it?’ she said to herself. It wasn’t, but it was someone helpful anyway.
Overcoming her fear, she pretended she was a nasty Jimp and jumped. Surprisingly, she cleared the final pool and also landed on solid ground.
‘I did it, I did it,’ she yelled excitedly.
The three exhausted friends sat together recovering from their ordeal, when the mood of the valley quickly changed. A cool, chill wind began to blow. Its coldness sent shivers through their souls. The landscape seemed to freeze with fear. Foliage shrunk, rocks remained still, water hardened and the happiness in the sky fell to the ground with the force of a tornado. The Sinister was displaying its awesome power of failure by the Pool of Pududdles, the Jimps unbeaten, capturing hero unable to capture the life forms. Its displeasure was destruction. No sooner had the three friends escaped their watery fate, the Pool of Pududdles began to disappear, sucked up into a vortex in the sky. The eyes of the Sinister appeared menacingly above the opening. In an instant the Pool of Pududdles was empty. All that remained was a shallow creek bed as dry as a desert. Grunt, Davidia and Batbit looked on in amazement.
‘It’s gone,’ said Davidia, ‘Was it ever there?’
‘This is a creepy place,’ replied Grunt, wondering what had just happened. There were evil forces in existence he didn’t comprehend. The Sinister couldn’t see the life forms through his anger. He had settled the score with the Pool of Pududdles and now it could be every Jimp jumping for itself.
The intrepid trio thanked their lucky stars, or guardian of goodness, that they had made it safely through. Another challenge had been defeated. What next?
The enraged Jimp council were going to make an example out of Jiminy, who had the audacity to challenge their authority and try to capture the life forms himself without going through the proper protocol channel, the council. The council visited Jiminy early in the morning, but not early enough. Had Jiminy succeeded in enslaving the life forms, the council would have to abide by the rules; however, if a mistake was made, the council could veto Jiminy’s control and he would be set to work himself. It was a risk every lazy Jimp would dare to take. Work was a fearful, four-lettered word. They jumped and snorted agitatedly at Jiminy’s front door, keen to inflict damage on a fellow Jimp. Danger was only a retracted claw away. Rules were rules. The council stood for cruelty and control of its Jimp empire. They began to kick the front door. Scratch marks dug deep as claws were dragged over its surface. Their fighting claws were erect for a stoush with Jiminy.
‘I’ll kick him in the crackers,’ offered one member.
‘I want first swipe. I’ll rip his fur out so it won’t regrow,’ said another.
‘Get rid of him, so I can take his wife,’ said a third. Bravado dripped like molasses when acting in a pack formation. Jominy, Jiminy’s wife, was an attractive Jimp who could kick with the best of them. Her delicate scratching claws, jumping agility and fine fur was a Jimp turn-on. Jealousy played a part in their vigorous snorting and kicking habits.
Jiminy opened the front door unaware of the hostile reception committee waiting for him. As soon as he saw their state of agitation, his fighting claws rose to the challenge.
‘Which of you dead beats wants the first swipe?’ he asked. ‘Go on, one chance is all you get.’ Jiminy was a formidable opponent. Once he had to fight off a challenge for Jominy and that Jimp didn’t jump too high for quite a long time. Some thought that it was the Claw of Clusters that had inflicted the serious damage, but no, it was just an accurate Jiminy kick.
‘Where are they?’ demanded
the head Jimp. ‘The life forms.’
‘They aren’t here. They have gone,’ replied Jiminy, teeth also bared and waving his head to either bite or sink a pronged tooth into another.
‘You let them escape?’
‘We were asleep when they snuck out.’
‘Where did they go?’
‘To the Pool of Pududdles.’
‘They won’t get past those slimy reeds. Jiminy, you are ordered to capture the life forms and if you fail, the Claw of Clusters will be invoked and you know that means a very sore lifetime or worse.’
Jiminy took an extra high leap upon hearing those dreaded words.
‘I’ll do anything to avoid that.’
‘Redemption for your misbehaviour can only be achieved by the capture and return of the life forms to the council. You knew that you should not have tried to usurp the council’s control over all new life forms. You know the consequences of failure.’
The council jumpers slowly reduced their agitated jumping and snorting and left muttering amongst themselves about how they had fortunately avoided a physical showdown with jumping Jiminy.
Jiminy returned indoors and gathered his family to explain what they must do. He turned angrily and aimed a vicious, claws-erect, kick at Boo for bringing the life forms into their home. Fortunately, being only two feet, damage was avoided. Trouble with a capital T now existed for him. The Claw of Clusters was far worse than having to work for a living.
‘The hunt is on. We must capture those life forms. If not, the choice available won’t be our favourite playtime. It will be work, or the Claw of Clusters. Jaminy, those life forms are nothing but trouble. You must decide whether it’s family or them, it’s your choice.’
Jaminy, alias Boo, began to jump higher and exaggerate his tricky foot movements. Suddenly, his forgotten claws sprung to attention and he was now the feet again of a nasty, jumping Jimp.
‘Let’s kick backside,’ he blurted out.
‘It’s decided. We’re to stick together like glue and hunt down those troublesome life forms.’
The Jimps jumped excitedly at the prospect of a hunt. An ancient custom like this had almost been forgotten. They salivated at the opportunity. It was a chance to also prove how nasty they could be.
‘To the Pool of Pududdles.’
Grunt grasped his necklace as he stood up. A sharp twinge of pain took a ride through one hand. The rake point on his necklace was razor sharp. As it pricked a finger, he became momentarily paralysed. He stood like a stone monument. Strange visions rumbled through his mind picturing for him a whirlwind of pathways to follow. A voice tried to tell him something. Just at the climactic point of delivery, it converted into a wispy mist. Nothing intelligible emanated; however, he saw a vision of a creek bed head into the distance then disappear. Was it an omen to follow?
‘Mr Grunt, Mr Grunt, are you dizzy?’ asked a concerned Davidia. She felt Grunt was about to topple over just like the great statues of the despots of the world when they were thrown out of office. ‘You better sit down before you fall down. Dad always said grown-ups need rest during the day. Are you a grown-up in your world?’
Grunt had no answer.
‘What do we do now? We’re lost. There are no shops or malls here in which to meet friends. There’s a lot of nothing but open countryside with nowhere to go. I don’t like this place.’ Davidia’s bottom lip began to sag.
Grunt thought for a moment. This thought had extra company so it could be converted into a plan. His eyes scanned the terrain. He stood up. A couple of his legs began to gently thump the ground like beating a base drum in rhythm. The ground seemed to come alive with the thumping. Grunt had unknowingly triggered an ancient communication power all his ancestors possessed. The Thumpering. The ground acted as a communication highway once the special thump had been awakened.
‘Is that music, Mr Grunt? It sounds like drums.’
Batbit sat quietly. His busybee wings needed recuperative time. The beating ground was very restful. He didn’t have to fly anywhere.
Grunt stood legs apart with his feet firmly planted on the ground like a telephone pole and waited. Around his waist, a circle of skin pores wheezed in and out pulsating to the rhythmic thump. Grunt immediately stopped the thumping. Shortly, it all became quiet. Once again he scanned the countryside. The Pool of Pududdles had now become an empty creek bed, but it did extend along the valley. Were his visions guiding him where to go?
Far away on the other side of the ex Pool of Pududdles, the Jimp posse was jumping its way toward them. Jiminy had enlisted the assistance of Jergess, the head of the council’s enforcement regime. He was a huge, awful, vicious brute at least half the size again of a normal Jimp. The Claw of Clusters was under his guardianship also. He delighted in the bad treatment of anything, fellow Jimps included. A good kicking was an aphrodisiac for fun. If Jiminy failed to capture Grunt and friends, then Jergess would invoke the Claw of Clusters well away from the village. Jiminy would never return and the myth status he enjoyed would be perpetuated and enhanced. In reality, the Claw of Clusters was a mythical cover for Jergess, the Jimp assassin. There was some serious jumping to do if they wanted to catch Grunt and Davidia. It seems that Batbit was too small to be good for anything except perhaps a tasty snack.
‘That way,’ said Grunt, pointing with a few hands. ‘The underground whisper is that once the Pool of Pududdles has disappeared, there is only one chance of escape, which is given as a reward for removing such a nasty, devious, trapping device. The creek bed is a funnel of information. The ground tremor that my feet had created indicates that the way along the creek bed is the way to go. It’s a sign.’
‘It looks like a long way. My mum and dad sometimes took me for a walk in the forest. This should be fun.’ Davidia slipped away, full of happy feelings now that she was no longer in conflict with her stomach.
Batbit was always on alert for danger. He knew capture could be imminent if they let their guard down. He took to the skies searching for any danger signs. There in the distance he could see a hopping party headed their way. It was the jumping Jimps. He let out an almighty warning screech.
‘Those dopey Jimps are jumping our way. We must keep moving,’ warned the flying tidbit.
‘Let’s move it.’
‘I’ll stall them,’ said Batbit. ‘I have a cunning plan.’
Batbit would need all his combative skills, guile and know-how to stall the Jimps who were much larger life forms than himself. He took off quicker than a wink. The Jimp chasers had grown into quite a number. The excitement of a hunt had conjured up their imagination, which was usually a blank page.
‘What are we chasing?’ chorused a few.
‘Unemployment for Jiminy.’ A roar of approval erupted. No Jimp worked. It was the ideal reason for a pursuit. The group snorted and grunted more wildly as they jumped.
Batbit couldn’t be seen in flight and he possessed a nasty pair of sharp teeth. He attacked from the rear, landed on a Jimp rump and bit hard. The following Jimp fleetingly saw him and kicked at him. He missed Batbit, but not the fellow Jimp. The same action was quickly repeated a few times. The Jimps stopped the jumping chase and began to kick each other in retaliation for what they thought was one of their own clan causing rump pain. Batbit was satisfied with his battle plan for delay. He last saw the furry jumpers arguing and kicking each other.
‘That will keep them occupied for awhile.’ He flew back to Grunt and Davidia who were walking along the creek bed. ‘We are safe for a while. Those Jimps are otherwise occupied.’
‘I’m tired,’ said Davidia. Her legs were finding the pebbles difficult to walk over.
‘We can stop for a short while. We don’t know where this valley leads to, and besides, we must keep in front of those jumping Jimps.’
A short distance ahead, a small rocky outcrop jutted into the centre of the creek bed. It looked like it would provide a welcome resting place.
‘Over there, we can sit on those rocks.
’ Davidia pointed to them. ‘I miss my mum and dad. When can I go home?’
‘Let’s try and leave this place first,’ said a disgruntled Grunt, who had never dealt before with a twelve year old human girl. There were many things he didn’t understand about her.
‘That spot is ideal,’ said Davidia, making a dash for it. Just as she was leveraging her backside into position for a full resting place, a few rocks crumbled under her feet.
‘You can’t sit there, that place is taken.’
‘Who said that?’
‘I did. You can’t sit there either, or there, it’s all taken. There is no seating space for you to sit. This isn’t a public resting amenity. I’m part of nature and I don’t need your bum to tamper with my precarious situation.’
Davidia glanced around in the hope of seeing the speaker. She could have sworn the rocks spoke to her.
‘But, we’re tired and need to rest.’
‘Find somewhere else.’
‘Who are you?’ asked Davidia.
‘Don’t ask any further questions otherwise I’ll tell a lie.’
‘You can’t do that. Bad things happen when they are told.’ Davidia was only armed with the truth; a lie was off her linguistic radar. ‘I’m going to sit on you, whether you like it or not.’
The weight of her slight frame pressed down hard on the rocks. A few of the rocks crumbled and split.
‘Now look what you have done. I am falling apart. I am crumbling. I cannot keep it together. At least I was safe under the water. Exposed to the elements I’ll dry out and collapse. Something removed it off me.’
‘Was the water from the Pool of Pududdles?’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘An evil wind took it.’
‘That means that something has crossed the Pool of Pududdles for the first time. Did you cross it safely?’
‘Yes.’
