How the Beetle Lost his Tongue

Before this, when the stars felt close enough to touch and the world was green, there lived a beetle. A beetle who told nothing but lies.

Roaming the forest one day, he came across an ant hill.

“Once I raced a pike in the fast-flowing river. When I beat him, my prize was one of his gleaming, spotted scales. Angry and ashamed to lose to so tiny and finless a creature as me, he tried to gobble me up. I swam so fast away he had not a hope to catch me.”

“Oh,” sighed the ants, in their voice that was a million voices. “You are a most talented beetle.”

“Silly ants,” cried the beetle. “How foolish you are to believe my tale. I cannot even swim!” At which the beetle rolled onto his shiny back, lolling his long, pink, liar’s tongue. And he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

---

Climbing a tall tree the next day, he came upon a nest of blackbird chicks. Grey and fluffy, and small beneath their gaping yellow beaks.

“Once I was eaten by a snake, who gaped his mouth as you do. But I refused to be swallowed, and the old snake choked on me. When he was dead, I climbed back out of his mouth, walking between his great fangs as if they were nothing more than blades of grass.”

“Oh,” chirped the chicks. “What a brave beetle you must be.”

“Silly chicks,” cried the beetle. “How foolish you are to believe my tale. I am small, and it’s well known that snakes enjoy the taste of beetle.” With this he rolled onto his shiny back, lolling his long, pink, liar’s tongue. And he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

“Be gone!” screeched Mother Blackbird, landing by the nest. “Bother my children no more with your lies, or you will be eaten truly.”

Still laughing, the beetle let himself roll off the branch, opened his wings as he fell, and flew away.

---

Sitting by a river as the sun dropped through an evening sky, the beetle saw a toad hop from the river.

“Once I played a lion at a game of riddles and bested him,” said the beetle. “He gave me one of his long claws for my victory, and I brought it to my family to sharpen their mandibles with.”

“Ah,” gulped the toad. “You are a very wise beetle indeed.”

“And you are a very stupid toad,” said the beetle, “to believe my tale. Lions do not live in the forest! They live far away, in the dry sand desert.” And he rolled onto his shiny back, lolling his long, pink liar's tongue. And he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

“How rude,” gulped the toad, plopping back into the river.

---

But the beetle, of all creatures, should’ve known the power of a story. For word of his lying tongue travelled ahead of him. Until all who saw him coming turned their backs and stopped up their ears.

Grumbling that all around him were sour and mirthless. That the days of a good joke were long dead, he turned for the deeper parts of the forest.

---

The beetle thought no one lived in the deep forest, for he’d never heard of anyone. Yet, one day, he encountered a hut. From the hut drifted a smell, a delicious smell of stewing berries. Following his nose, he flew to the windowsill and peered in.

A crone, her grey hair wild as a bird’s nest and her black eyes shiny as a toad’s, stood bent over a pot on the fire.

“Lady Witch,” said the beetle, “may I taste your berry jam that smells so good?”

“You may, but you must pay me.”

“What is your price?” asked the beetle.

“One true thing,” said the crone.

“I have flown all the way to the moon,” said the beetle. “The shine of my armour is because I’ve bathed in moon dust.”

The crone dipped a teaspoon into the pot, and laid it on the windowsill for the beetle to lick.

“But alas,” she said, as he ate. “You’ve not told the truth. You’ve stolen this taste of my jam, and so I’ll take your lying tongue as payment.”

The beetle tried to tell the truth then, to say that he was sorry. For sorry he was. But he could not.

He’d lost his tongue.

---

All is not sadness and punishment, however.

Time flowed on. The beetle returned from the deep forest and went among other creatures again. Soon, they realised he no longer told his lies and gave up turning their backs when he came by. They welcomed him home, and lived out the rest of their days in peace and quiet.

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This story is now a beautifully illustrated book! So if you enjoyed it, and you know another reader who might like it too, please do consider buying a copy. It makes a lovely little gift. The artist I worked with is incredibly talented, his name is Reuben McHugh and the illustrations really are wonderful. Thank you so much!