The Turd Adventures

The Beginning of Things for Turds

Mr. Haneywoedle was born from Good Things one gloomy Thursday in October. By Good Things I mean peas, carrots, potatoes, broccoli, bananas, apples and apricots. Especially apricots - his Maker really loved those. For a turd, Mr. Haneywoedle was perfect – not too muscular and not too fatty. His texture and complexion were smooth and solid, and in length he was just above average.

Mr. Haneywoedle looked ‘round the dark, warm cave to which he was born with hands on hips and a big grin.

“Ah, home – it’s exactly as it ought to be,” he remarked appreciatively. Mr. Haneywoedle had never known anything else, so this wasn’t saying much. But as he was made of Good Things, he couldn’t help having Good opinions.

“Indeed it is,” his sister Mod chuckled cheerily.

Mod was made of Delicious Things – grains and sugars (artificial sugars mostly); cookies and brownies and ice cream; pop and suckers and chocolate bars; cheesecake and jawbreakers. For unfortunately yes, her Maker had consumed all of this and more in the past week. Mod was small and a bit too hard, and crumbly all over. If voices could be described in sizes, hers was a midget, for it sounded short and chuckley. Really I find it impossible to describe any other way. And she spoke very fast, as if her midget voice were tap dancing.

“I wonder if there’s anything more out there? Our home is just so good-good-good-goodie it is, there ought to be more!” For as Mod was made of Delicious Things – and rather too many of them, I might add – she couldn’t help having Delicious Thoughts that spilled over.

“I suppose,” their brother Pod sighed.

Pod was made of Succulent Things: Beef and pork and chicken – even a bit of lamb his Maker had had at a birthday party on Wednesday. Pod couldn’t help sighing – in fact there was a sigh almost between every word he spoke, for he was plagued by sluggishness. Pod was very soft, and much bigger around than he was tall. Everywhere he went, he couldn’t help losing smears of himself. As he moved he would reach behind him to scoop up whatever had fallen off – an arm, a leg or an ear – and pat it back onto himself.

This, and his poor lungs, made Pod very slow. Whenever he spoke there would be sighs all around, for he would sigh trying to catch his breath, but Mr. Haneywoedle and Mod would sigh as well (especially Mod, very loudly) out of impatience. I can’t say what Pod’s thoughts were, for he never expressed anything definitive. Instead he would just grudgingly agree with both of his siblings, even when they argued.

After about five minutes exploring their new home, there was a sudden rumbling.

“I say,” Mr. Haneywoedle looked around worriedly. “What can that be? An earthquake perhaps?”

“I suppose,” Pod sighed.

“Or,” Mod chuckled, “it’s the Maker, shaking us around for fun!”

“I suppose,” Pod sighed.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Mr. Haneywoedle replied in a very grownup voice. “We haven’t a Maker. Look around – do you see a Maker? No, the ground is just shaking.”

“That must be it,” Pod acknowledged grudgingly.

For a moment they all looked at each other, waiting to see if their dear home would shake again. Mod chuckled – she couldn’t help doing that every few minutes or so, even if nobody saw anything funny. It was more a nervous tick than an expression of joy.

But hardly had her chuckle ended when there came another rumbling – bigger and stronger than before.

Mr. Haneywoedle and Mod and Pod flew up into the air.

“Grab onto something!” Mr. Haneywoedle shouted.

They all reached out, grasping. Mr. Haneywoedle caught hold of something thin and red that ran the length of the wall. Mod held fast to a big, white, peeling lump that was red round its base and full of layers of holes.

“This doesn’t belong here,” she chuckled, and tried to pull it free, forgetting that she needed to hold onto it. But when she pulled, she found that the lump didn’t budge and its base grew redder.

Pod grabbed at the wall. His arms got stuck to the wall but detached from his body and slid down. He continued to fly up.

“Pod!” his brother and sister screamed.

Pod flew up and up, sighing as he went. His head smacked into the ceiling and stuck, and Pod sighed with relief. But the earthquake wasn’t over – their darling home went on rumbling, and eventually the rest of his body couldn’t hold on any longer. His head remained fixed to the ceiling. The rest of him fell.

“Pod!” Mr. Haneywoedle screamed again. Mod chuckled.

The rumbling and shaking became unbearably thunderous, and none of them could hold on.

During their earlier inspection of the big warm cave, they had noticed a hole in the ground at its far end, which led Somewhere Else. Somewhere they’d never been. Now that all of them had lost hold, they were flying through the air again.

“Why, we’re headed straight for that hole!” Mr. Haneywoedle shouted. “We really ought to have plugged that up,” he murmured as an afterthought, mostly to himself.

Anyway his brother and sister couldn’t hear him, because the cave roared with the sound of rumbling and thundering. In Pod’s case, he couldn’t hear because his head was up on the ceiling.

Seeing that they flew toward a hole, Mod chuckled.

“YES!” she cried. “As I said, there ought to be more!”

Each of them arrived to the hole at exactly the same time, and this created a dilemma.

Mr. Haneywoedle and Mod struggled fiercely with each other. Mod’s rough texture cut Mr. Haneywoedle a few times, which she didn’t intend, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Ugh – take some softener every once in a while!” Mr. Haneywoedle shouted.

While they struggled Pod hung limp between them, getting smashed around, for he had no head to see the goings on, and no arms to struggle with. From the ceiling his head sighed sadly, feeling more and more of himself slide away. Really he was the wedge, for Mr. Haneywoedle and Mod could have fit through together if he weren’t there at the same time.

Several impossible moments passed. Just when it seemed they would be stuck that way forever - gasping for breath and screaming at each other as Pod flopped hopelessly - finally they came free!

It was because Pod had lost a good bit of himself, actually. Both his ears, part of his torso and his bum had already slid down the hole, and now he was unrecognizable. Mr. Haneywoedle and Mod only knew it was him because there was no one else it could be.

“Whew! That’s better,” Mr. Haneywoedle breathed, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief as they slid down.

“Wooeee!” Mod chuckled. “It’s like a waterslide!”

“What’s that?” Mr. Haneywoedle inquired with a frown, his baffled voice echoing along the tunnel.

“Oh.” Mod chuckled. “I’m not sure.”

Mr. Haneywoedle opened his mouth to say something more, but at that moment they saw a growing light below them. Both of them gasped.

“What is that?” Mr. Haneywoedle whispered incredulously.

For it may seem silly to you, but they’d never seen a light before. They were positively awestruck by this strange, glowing luminescence for which they had no words.

Mod chuckled nervously.

From below came a new sound, too. A very ominous sound, as far as either of them could tell, for it gave them a queasy feeling. In fact what they heard was a Splish! Splash!

It could only be the voice of their arch-nemesis – someone they hadn’t even realized existed, but whom they nonetheless despised from the depths of their being, as dogs and cats often despise each other without quite knowing why.

The light grew bigger and bigger. Mr. Haneywoedle grabbed his sister’s hand.

“Hold on!” he cried nervously.

Suddenly the light was all around them, and they were leaving the waterslide, and cold air was hitting them. And from above – from inside the warm cave, their brother Pod’s scream echoed down to them.

It did not register with Mr. Haneywoedle until later, but in fact Pod was screaming because down below he felt his body land in a sea of acidic yellow liquid – in their arch-nemesis!

As they exited the waterslide Mr. Haneywoedle decided that the yellow sea below was an undesirable place to be, for he saw his brother’s body – or what was left of it – writhing unhappily, and the yellow sea foaming around him. Mr. Haneywoedle espied a solid white cliff approaching on the right. It looked a much pleasanter place to be.

“Quick, Mod!” he commanded. “Grab onto that!”

As it happened they were already very close to it.

“Oh my,” Mod chuckled, reaching out. Despite the brittle state of her body, she was just able to hang on. And Mr. Haneywoedle, grasping her other hand desperately, began struggling to get up.

“Very good, Mod,” he gasped. “Very good.”

She chuckled. Mr. Haneywoedle scrambled up next to her on the ledge and sat down, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

“Whew! That was close. That was very close.” Together they stared down into the yellow sea, where they could just see the last of Pod sinking away.

“What is that yellow stuff?” Mod whispered.

“That… I don’t know.” Mr. Haneywoedle shook his head. “But I’ll say, I don’t like it.”

“No, no,” Mod chuckled with relief. “Not a single bit.”

“Poor Pod.”

The Narrow Escape

Things were quickly getting only worse for Pod. For now a loud roaring echoed forth, bringing with it a wind that nearly pushed Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle right off the cliff! And looking down again they gasped with horror – for the yellow sea was rising!

Mr. Haneywoedle leapt up.

“We must get out of here, Mod.”

“But where will we go?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve the strongest feeling we shouldn’t let ourselves be taken by that,” and he pointed down at the sea. “I can just barely see Pod’s body in its depths, and he’s starting to disintegrate!”

“Oh, that can’t be good,” Mod sighed. Yes, sighed, for now that Pod was gone they both felt an unconscious need to fill his part in. “Well,” she stood up and looked around. “Where can we go?”

Turning around, they beheld a vast, gray valley. And in that valley far below they saw a small, strange-looking hill, and beyond that a wall of black stone shot up high into the sky, seemingly unclimbable. Turning left from this view, they saw another wall of white stone. It, too, was of insurmountable height. And turning left from there, across the yellow sea, they saw another cliff ledge, and beyond that another vale, and beyond that another cliff, and beyond that another vale.

“Oh dear,” Mod chuckled absentmindedly, “someone seems to have stuttered.”

“Eh?” Mr. Haneywoedle frowned, confused.

“Oh nothing, I’m sure,” Mod chuckled.

“Stop dilly-dallying about, Mod, and help figure all of this out. We’ve no idea how high the sea will rise, and I have no wish to hang about here and find out!”

But as he finished saying this they did find out: The yellow sea paused. They both stared wide-eyed, holding their breath. Then suddenly the yellow sea was falling, falling, much faster than it had risen! And Pod was entirely gone from view now – he’d disappeared through what looked like another hole, and the yellow sea was fast following him.

Mr. Haneywoedle touched his cap somberly. Neither of them said it, what with feeling sorry about Pod, but they were awfully relieved.

Right about now you are probably thinking it must take a terribly unsteady chap to miss entirely and leave fellows of Mod’s and Mr. Haneywoedle’s size on the seat! Personally I’ve always found this squatting business rather foolish, and dirtier than just sitting! After all, if everyone wiped the seat and sat as they were meant to, then everything that ought to go in the bowl, would. And the few germs you might come into contact with by sitting won’t hurt – especially if you’ve wiped and padded the seat. In fact a few germs only do a fellow good.

But in this case, the Maker hadn’t sat. They’d (I won’t say whether it was a girl or a boy, for that hardly matters and some of you would certainly seize the opportunity to argue about gender-specific habits) squatted, and of course made rather a dirty mess.

And secondly, Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle weren’t as big as you’re probably imagining. I’ll admit I said Mr. Haneywoedle was slightly above average, but I never did specify whose average I meant.

If Pod had landed on the cliff, well now that would be an unsteady chap! For Pod was what you or I would consider a turd, but even then just barely. A bullet-sized turd (and not shotgun ammo or anything, more like a pistol bullet), and without his head more like when a pea gets smashed between the fork tines.

But Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle weren’t, by our standards, turds. They considered themselves turds because there were two of them, and there’d only been one of Pod, so of course they thought themselves average. But in fact they were what we consider particles – mere smidges on the inner edge of the toilet seat. And the specific toilet to which they arrived was one of those annoying affairs – one of those automatic things that doesn’t wait for a fellow to get up properly before it flushes. That meant that the Maker was still trying to stand up when the toilet roared, gushed forth (spraying little bits of water and urine through the air, I might add), and then began to swallow.

And the Maker, caught unaware and startled, and already trembling from squatting when they weren’t very active otherwise, fell back onto the seat.

Your initial reaction might be to gasp with concern: Wouldn’t Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle be smashed by such turbulence?! Well, our two protagonists weren’t smashed at all. And the only way I can explain this is that the Maker was too big, and they too small, to be smashed. Imagine stomping on a little speck of dirt with your shoe – it’s like that. You won’t flatten that dirt particle, or even separate it into smaller particles, most times. Most times you’ll lift your shoe to find that it’s just the same.

And so it was with Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle. They were both made of the right sort of stuff to keep together.

The sky darkened, and Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle looked up. They both screamed – Mr. Haneywoedle with terror; Mod with chuckling incredulity. Some massive shape loomed over them and fell closer and closer. Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle were frozen with shock, sure that it wouldn’t – it couldn’t – actually keep falling until it was upon them.

But that’s exactly what the shape did. A horrible smell filled the air (don’t ask me to describe it – I don’t know what smells horrible to a turd. I only know that Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle didn’t like it), and the shape descended until they were pressed down flat. Whatever the shape was, it felt very pudgy and clammy and cold.

“Lie completely still,” Mr. Haneywoedle whispered. “Perhaps then it will go away.”

Mod chuckled.

After what felt like hours to the brother and sister – but was only a few seconds to the Maker – suddenly the shape was lifting up. Mr. Haneywoedle breathed a sigh of relief. It took them several moments to realize: They were no longer on the cliff! They were rising through the air, and the cliff was getting smaller and smaller below them!

“Hold on tight!” Mr. Haneywoedle screamed.

“Auugghh!” Mod screamed back, but she screamed it as though she were having fun.

Mr. Haneywoedle had to pull very hard to unstick his arm, and then he poked curiously at the surface to which both of them were plastered.

“It’s very sticky,” he remarked. “My goodness Mod, what have we got ourselves into?”

“I know,” Mod grinned, shivering delightedly. “This must be…” she chuckled, “some sort of magnet.”

“What, pray tell, is a magnet?”

Mod’s eyebrows raised, as if she too would like to know the answer to that. After a short pause she gave a hesitant chuckle, and said nothing.

“Really Mod,” said Mr. Haneywoedle, “what are all these strange terms you come up with?” He couldn’t help feeling annoyed. As silly and vague as she was, could it be possible that Mod actually knew more than he did? Without realizing it herself?

Mod was grasping for an answer when suddenly the sky darkened again.

“What now?” Mr. Haneywoedle cried shrilly. He was growing rather tired, you see – he hadn’t signed up for an adventure. Mod, missing Pod, sighed.

And then, utter Darkness.

Things began to get warm. They could feel that they were now pressed between two things. The clammy surface to which they were stuck had been cold, but now it was heating up. Mr. Haneywoedle wriggled in annoyance, for he was beginning to sweat, and that made him itch.

After a few antagonizing minutes of wriggling, sweating and itching as Mod looked on (for being made of different things, Mod didn’t sweat. Even in this heat she was quite dry), Mr. Haneywoedle realized the best thing to do would be to lie still.

So they held still for who knew how long, saying nothing and barely daring to breathe. They weren’t sure what all the changes were about, and they didn’t want to risk causing any more strange events.

After a while, holding still became very boring. As nothing went on happening, their nerves started to settle. Finally Mr. Haneywoedle ventured to say,

“Mod?”

“Hmm?”

“I-I was just wondering – where do you get all those words? You know, those words that don’t mean anything?”

“Oh yes,” Mod chuckled, “you mean like ‘magnet’?”

“Yes – and ‘waterslide’ and ‘maker’.”

“Well that’s simple,” Mod chuckled. “I get them from the Candies.”

“Candies?” Mr. Haneywoedle echoed doubtfully. “What is that?”

“Who, you mean. They call themselves that. They come to me in my dreams.”

“What are dreams?”

“Oh you know…” Mod chuckled.

“No, I don’t.”

“Well they’re… they’re… It’s like if you were to go to sleep, and see me while you were asleep. And it wouldn’t be the real me. You would just be seeing what looked like me. Your mind would draw you a picture.”

“Aahh,” said Mr. Haneywoedle, sounding as if he didn’t understand at all.

“Yes,” Mod chuckled. “And the Candies come to my dreams and tell me these things. I don’t know what they’re talking about, of course, but I can hardly stop them – they go on and on! So I just let them. And I pick up these words along the way. And it’s strange, I get the sort of feeling that if I ever saw one of these things – a Maker, or a waterslide, or a magnet – that I would know just what it was somehow. But as it is I don’t think I’ve seen one, I can’t really describe one. I only know that when we were going down that hole out of our home, the word ‘waterslide’ came to mind! For that’s what it felt like a waterslide would be. Am I making any sense?”

“Of course not,” Mr. Haneywoedle replied jealously, trying to sound very authoritative. “Anyway, I should very much doubt whether any of those things were real. The same way you said that these dreams aren’t real – just pictures – probably waterslides and magnets and makers are more of that. Pictures, and nothing more.”

“Ah, well,” Mod chuckled. “Probably.”

The Echoing Pit

It had been a tiring ten minutes; they fell asleep.

I may as well add that Mod saw Candies in her dreams because Mod was made from candy. It was something her body understood.

As Mr. Haneywoedle’s eyes closed, he wished that he could dream as Mod did. He wished his mind would draw him pictures of the Candies, and that they would tell him things.

Apparently it was enough to want to dream, because when he had been in sleep for several minutes there came to his mind’s eye a large, green thing. From the ground up it was a solitary pillar. Then, near its top, the pillar broke off and spread out into several smaller stems, and at the top of each stem was some puffy, darker green stuff.

“Are you the Candies?” Mr. Haneywoedle asked anxiously, for he realized he was dreaming. The green thing frowned.

“Candies?” it asked, confused. “I am Broccoli.”

Mr. Haneywoedle repeated the word in surprise, wondering why he didn’t see the Candies as Mod said he would.

But of course Mod had never said he would see the Candies if he dreamed. He was only remembering things the way he wanted to.

“What is Broccoli?” Mr. Haneywoedle asked. Broccoli frowned again – it wasn’t much of a smiler – and said,

“I haven’t come to talk about me. I’ve come to tell you a story.”

And what followed was Mr. Haneywoedle gazing in amazement, as Broccoli droned on with a strange and random story full of words and names and places he didn’t recognize. There didn’t seem any point to the story, either, for it went on and on until Broccoli began fading away.

Mr. Haneywoedle’s eyes opened.

He leapt up in excitement and went over to shake Mod.

“Mod! Mod, the most exciting thing has happened! I dreamed!”

Mod’s eyes popped open. She sat up and chuckled.

“You did, did you? What happened in the dream?”

“There was a big green thing – a Broccoli, it said it was. And then…” But here he trailed off and his face fell, for he realized,

“But I’ve… I’ve forgotten it. I’ve forgotten everything the Broccoli said.”

He plopped down, and by his expression you would think this the greatest tragedy ever to befall a turd.

“Oh, that’s alright,” Mod chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. “I always forget my dreams.”

Mr. Haneywoedle stared in surprise.

“You do? But… but how do you know all those fake words, then?”

Mod shrugged. “They just come back to me. Randomly. In the moment, you might say.”

As they were caught up in this exciting conversation, they had failed to notice the change in their circumstances. For they were no longer plastered against that clammy wall which had been cold and then hot. Now they stood on something soft, pale and cool, and they were cloaked in shadow.

Right after Mod said, “…say”, Mr. Haneywoedle thought to look around.

“I say Mod, we aren’t where we were.”

Mod looked about (and chuckled). “You’re not wrong.”

“I wonder where we are now?” Mr. Haneywoedle took a few paces and looked in every direction for clues.

“Did we know where we were before?” Mod asked as she stood up.

“Well no, you’re right – we haven’t known since the big earthquake sent us flying out of our home.”

“And we lost Pod.”

“Yes,” Mr. Haneywoedle sighed sadly. “We lost Pod.”

Mod sighed too, then chuckled reflectively as an old person does. She was remembering Pod’s many fine attributes.

Although they were only particles, Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle did realize that they were covered over by something – that they stood on something soft, and that same soft stuff was also overhead, high up in the air. It was significant, then, when Mr. Haneywoedle spied an opening far off in the distance, where light came through. He pointed excitedly.

“Look, Mod! An opening! Let’s go see what we can see!”

He started running. Mod got up and ran after him, chuckling breathlessly.

If you have ever been at the Bottom of anything enclosed, you will understand how terrifying it is to look up. Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle had come to the opening and were doing that very thing – looking up. They began to tremble.

They were surrounded by a shining circular wall, and turning, they could see there were no corners, only a smooth bend going on and on – and in that wall, hundreds upon hundreds of holes. Small holes to you and me, but to Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle they all looked like caves, out of which perhaps monsters could leap at them at any second! It was hard to tear their eyes away from those holes, but when finally they did, it was to crane their necks back, back, and look straight up. Very, very far up and away was a large opening, filled with light. It seemed to be saying, Here I am, but you will never reach me! Teehee!

Gathering his courage, Mr. Haneywoedle opened his mouth and called out,

“Hallo!” as loud as he could. To their surprise, they kept hearing this sound over and over again, growing fainter but still repeating itself. Mr. Haneywoedle’s call rose up, up the pit, reaching for the light above and fading away as it did, and finally all was silent. Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle didn’t know what ‘echoing’ was, or what caused it. Mod, distracted from their dilemma by the repeating sound, chuckled.

“Cool!”

But Mr. Haneywoedle wasn’t distracted. In fact to him the echo only made it all worse, for it rung of Emptiness.

“Oh dear,” he whispered shakily. Somehow this – being at the Bottom and not knowing how to get to the Top – was far worse than before; when they were on the cliff and didn’t know how to get down. I suppose the best way to explain it is that, when you are at the very bottom of an inescapable place… Well, the word ‘Doomed’ comes to mind. That is what Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle felt – doomed. Doomed to what, I don’t know, but they did not think they could get up, and they certainly could not go down. Should anything come out of the caves – or down upon them from the big opening up above – they could not escape it. And even if nothing came – well then it seemed certain they were doomed to die in this gloomy place. Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle didn’t know the word ‘Death’, but they still had a sense that things could end, and they didn’t want things to end here.

“At least we have each other,” Mod whispered in her chuckley voice. Mr. Haneywoedle was busy despairing, and did not respond. Immediately Mod was bored. She began calling out, just to hear her own voice repeat itself back to her.

“Hey there!” Hey there… hey there… hey there… She chuckled.

“Tra-la-la-la-LA-ah!” Tra-la-la-la-LA-ah… tra-la-la-la-LA… tra-la-la-la…

“Is there any way out of this place, friend?!” Is there any way out of this place… is there any way out of this… is there any way out…

Then Mr. Haneywoedle, traumatized and frightened, did something you should never do to your sibling – something that signals a loss of control, and therefore weakness.

He smacked her.

“Ow!” Mod cried. Ow!... ow!... ow!...

Mod raised her hand to share in her brother’s weakness, but she never did. For suddenly something did come – not out of any of the caves, but down through the opening up above.

“Look out!” brother and sister shrieked, and they dived back into the folds, peering out as they took cover. What they saw now was some blue liquid streaming down, down into the pit, hitting all the soft folds of material at the bottom, and splashing Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle. They ran further into the fold to get away from it. It made a terrible sound, hollow but roaring. It seemed to be making the ominous promise that It would find them.

“We’ve got to get out of here, Mod,” Mr. Haneywoedle whispered.

“Yes, but how?” Mod whispered back.

“We’ve got to climb.”

“What’s that?”

“The Broccoli told me – we’ve got to go up.” He pointed up. “And use that wall to do it.”

“You mean with all those horrid caves?” Mod gasped.

“Yes, Mod – I don’t see any way around it. We’ll have to use those to get up the wall. Unless you can think of something better.”

Mod was silent for a moment. The roaring liquid continued to splash down.

“No,” she said finally. “I can’t.”

Suddenly the roaring stopped. Both of them looked up hopefully. Several moments passed before they got up the courage to creep to the opening and look out.

They were surrounded by a blue sea of frothing liquid. The soft material they stood on kept them only just elevated above it.

“Mr. Haneywoedle,” Mod whispered, “I’m frightened.”

How were they to get to the wall now?

“Look!” he cried.

There was a sort of path leading to the wall from where they stood. It consisted of several humps of more dry cloth, like what they stood on. The path wasn’t straight, and the humps weren’t very close together, but it looked doable. At any rate it was their only shot.

“Come on, Mod. No more time to waste.”

He took her hand, led them to the edge of the cloth on which they stood, and took a great leap! Mod followed with a delighted shriek. They landed, teetering, and very nearly fell into the blue liquid below. And although they themselves didn’t realize it, they were actually beginning to feel better, for now they were not at the very Bottom anymore – the blue liquid was. As soon as they had righted themselves, Mr. Haneywoedle bent his knees and leaped! again. Mod followed his lead, and very soon they were across the path and had reached the shiny wall.

“Now we must climb, climb!” Mr. Haneywoedle cried excitedly.

From here there was no verbal communication. Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle both seemed to know that the thing to do was for one to climb on the other’s shoulders, reach the ridge of the closest cave, lean down and pull the other up, and continue in this way from one cave to the next until they reached the top.

They both knew this because both of them had learned about climbing in their dreams – Mod from the Candies, and Mr. Haneywoedle from the Broccoli. It had been in their stories. The Candies never told Mod the word ‘Climb’, but they’d talked an awful lot about this method of getting up – using a friend’s shoulders and taking turns in this way.

They’d cleared three caves when suddenly there was a frightening BANG! - and with it, all went dark.

Mod screamed one long scream, for a long time. The scream resounded long after she finally closed her mouth to swallow. Mr. Haneywoedle just stared at the blackness breathing hard, too exhausted and frightened to even utter a sound.

“Wh-what now?” Mod finally asked beside him (for luckily both of them sat on a ridge together when this happened). She did not chuckle; she did not sigh.

They sat there for a while saying nothing, until soon they both noticed something very odd. It was dark, yes, but they were beginning to see again. Their surroundings were coming back into view – very pale and shadowy, but still there, and visible enough now that brother and sister could make out the cave holes and the continuous wall. In other words they could see just enough to continue climbing.

Continue climbing they did, with grunts and gasps and newfound hope; mounting relief at being able to do something about their circumstance. And it was a good thing, too – because now they heard a gushing behind them. They could not see what it was, but it went on insistently growing louder and louder, and seemed to relentlessly come closer and closer.

“Climb! Climb!” Mr. Haneywoedle shouted. They worked at it furiously now. The gushing water made them so afraid they could not think. This helped, though – for if they’d been thinking they would worry about falling. But as it was they didn’t worry, and this allowed them to move much faster.

An hour later, exhausted, frightened and sweating terribly – at least, Mr. Haneywoedle was sweating; Mod was just beginning to crack – they reached the top! They took several minutes to gasp and generally collect themselves. Mr. Haneywoedle wiped away the sweat, which Mod promptly wiped up with her hands and applied to the cracked areas of her body as a salve. This came very naturally to them, as it comes naturally to monkeys to eat bugs off of each other.

When they felt better, they realized why there had been a ‘BANG!’, and why it was dark: Apparently the top of this deep hole had a door. And someone had shut the door. In fact a sliver of light came through along the door’s edge. Mod went over and tried to push the door up, but neither of them were surprised to see that it didn’t budge – after all the door was huge.

Mod didn’t notice, but Mr. Haneywoedle was thoughtfully silent. The discovery of the door made him uncomfortable, and he couldn’t understand why. But eventually an old conversation came back to him – the one in which Mod had suggested that perhaps there was a Maker. Mr. Haneywoedle had confidently put an end to such talk! But now, this door… Someone must have shut it! And if there were someone big enough to shut this enormous door, then how could he be certain there was no Maker?

“Whew,” Mod gasped with a chuckle, coming back to sit down beside him. “It sure is hot in here. A breeze would be nice, eh?”

A breeze… Wind! Of course, wind! Dear, dear wind! Mr. Haneywoedle smiled with newfound assurance. Yes – the wind had shut the door.

But then there was the trouble – how would it ever come open again? In fact how had it been open before, if the wind shut it? Surely that hadn’t been the first wind ever to come along. But maybe it had, Mr. Haneywoedle couldn’t really know… And where had all that blue liquid, and the soft cloth down below, come from?

Mr. Haneywoedle pushed these uncomfortable questions away. But there was still one difficulty to address – getting out of wherever they were. Both of them wanted desperately to be out of this place, wherever it was, but they needed the door to open. The gushing water didn’t seem to be coming any closer – it sounded as if it’d stopped rising some time ago, thankfully. But still it was there, gushing and rushing and swirling within this hole, and making a roaring racket. That’d been a near miss! Mr. Haneywoedle was silently thankful that they’d thought to climb the wall – and done it in time.

But they couldn’t know that the water wouldn’t rise again, and so it all came back to that need to get out.

Mod was humming to herself – Mr. Haneywoedle didn’t recognize the tune. Both of them were wishing, as they sat there on the ledge, that the door would open. And this moment turned out to be very like the moment earlier, when Mr. Haneywoedle wished he could dream, for they thought about the door opening – and suddenly it did!

There came a loud creaking noise that sliced into their ears. Mr. Haneywoedle winced; Mod winced with a chuckle. The crack of light grew; the darkness fell away before it. Soon light surrounded them, and the door was open! It was a heavy door, but Mr. Haneywoedle didn’t like to think about that – didn’t like to think how certainly the wind might’ve shut it, but the wind couldn’t open it. He just wanted to think about getting free - wherever free was.

“Let’s go!” Mr. Haneywoedle cried, and they leaped up.

“Yeah!” Mod chuckled as they jumped the ledge and ran.

Something in the Vale

Before I tell you what happened next, I must advise that you should not try any of the activities found in this story – except perhaps going down a waterslide, but even then only with good supervision. All of the rest of these activities were strictly appropriate for two small turds, but would be extremely unwise and unsafe for a human child to undertake. That being said, I will resume with my story.

The two particles ran without knowing what they ran toward. Indeed, they were so anxious to be free of that terrifying pit that they failed to notice what little ground remained ahead. And by the time they did notice, Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle were already falling.

Falling was exciting! Mod felt a wonderful, quivery feeling deep in her stomach, and shrieked happily.

“Woowwee!”

The brother and sister didn’t know anything about death. If they had, of course they would’ve been terrified. But to them this was simply a grand bit of fun. Mr. Haneywoedle laughed as the ground rushed up to meet them. And they had an extraordinary break, for instead of landing on a cold, hard floor, they landed in something soft, and deep. They bounced.

Mod rolled, chuckling deliriously as she went. That had been wonderful! Mr. Haneywoedle landed firmly on his feet, nearly falling over but just managing to stay upright. He caught his breath with a big laugh.

“My, my!” he exclaimed. “We shall have to do that again sometime!”

Mod stopped rolling and propped up on her elbows to cock her head at him.

“How would we ever get back up there?”

Mr. Haneywoedle shrugged. “Ah, well. Maybe not. Come, let’s get our bearings.”

Brother and sister recognized this as the vale they’d seen a long while back, when they’d been on the cliff and looked around. In every direction were sheer walls of white rock. Far, far across the vale stood a rock wall with a low, wide tunnel at its base, and light came through it from the other side. Both Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle became excited at the possibility of what might be through that tunnel.

“Let’s go – but carefully,” said Mr. Haneywoedle, sounding very grownup and fatherly. “We’ve been through quite enough for one day without any more surprises.”

“Too true,” Mod chuckled. So Mr. Haneywoedle led her across the vale to the base of a rock wall on their right side. They proceeded forward toward the tunnel carefully, pressing close to the wall to avoid any disturbances.

Of course shocking things were bound to go on happening. But by now the two particles were expecting the unexpected. Though they couldn’t help feeling frightened, nothing would really surprise them anymore. And yet, the next thing to happen did surprise them, for it was very unlike any of the previous happenings.

Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle had been holding their breath in anticipation – at least, as much as you could hold your breath while scurrying along with your nerves up. But just as they arrived at the tunnel, the light coming through turned dark. Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle screeched to a halt, made uncertain. As they watched, they heard a low rumbling noise, which they could feel through the floor. Mr. Haneywoedle gripped Mod.

“Back up, back up!” he cried tersely. Quickly they shuffled back, pressing against the wall of rock on their right.

Slowly, very slowly, Something was coming through the tunnel. Something that darkened the tunnel’s entire width. When It poked Itself out on Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle’s end, the turds weren’t sure whether they should be frightened or not. For though it looked very strange (completely unrecognizable to the turds, of course), it was also, somehow… Friendly. It was wide and flat in shape, and tan in color. On the top they could just see several brown peaks rising slightly up from It. The Something kept sliding through the tunnel until it emerged completely, and then came to rest.

Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle stared at It. It stared at them.

Suddenly Mod noticed,

“Hey! Do you smell that? It smells delicious!” she chuckled, and without another thought she broke free of Mr. Haneywoedle’s grip and trotted forward to inspect the Something more closely.

“Get back here!” Mr. Haneywoedle whispered furiously through his teeth (yes, he had teeth. These things aren’t up to me).

Mod pressed her nose very close to the Something and inhaled.

“Ahh,” she sighed. “It smells so good… And so familiar!” For of course, in case you haven’t guessed it by now, what Mod was smelling was a cookie. And it should smell familiar, considering she was partly made up of one.

I suppose it would help to explain what a cookie was doing, sliding through the tunnel and into the vale. A very odd occurrence, usually, but not odd when you consider that an eight year-old boy was squatting on the other side of the tunnel, and staring in the direction of the living room with a wide-eyed anticipation of his own.

You see, as Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle had been hurling themselves down into the vale, this eight year-old had been “stealing” a cookie from the kitchen. I put ‘stealing’ in quotation marks because it was not that the little boy couldn’t have a cookie, it was just that he was supposed to wait until later – after lunch and before dinner, more precisely. Some of you may have a similar rule in your house. The little boy stared anxiously because, beyond the living room was his mother’s study. And he heard his mother coming out of that study, just at the very moment that Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle arrived at the tunnel. And he pushed his cookie under the bathroom door to keep it safe from his mother.

Now Mr. Haneywoedle watched fearfully as Mod sniffed, poked and prodded the Something. When nothing went on happening and happening, he finally allowed himself to creep timidly forward, until he stood just behind Mod and sniffed the Something curiously for himself. He found that it was indeed a wonderful smell.

Eventually, as Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle saw that the Something apparently did not intend to harm them, Mod suggested,

“Let’s taste it!”

“Oh Mod, hadn’t you better – oh Mod!” For she’d already gone ahead, sticking out her tongue and licking the Something.

“It’s just as delicious as it smells!” she cried. She turned happily to her brother. “Go on and try it!”

“I don’t know… What if that’s a rude thing to do?” Mr. Haneywoedle asked. It wasn’t that he really thought it might be rude. Really, he was just thinking about the day they’d had, and that it might all be a trick somehow; maybe it was more dangerous than everything else they’d been through because it didn’t seem dangerous at all, if that makes sense. He just didn’t want to let his guard down. So he was putting it off, and watching Mod to make sure she didn’t turn sick.

But the delicious smell persisted in his nose, and Mod wasn’t turning sick – she only went on grinning eagerly at him, so that finally he said,

“Oh, alright.” And he stepped forward and gave the Something a quick lick, not wanting to think about what he was doing. And, well… It really was delicious!

Brother and sister couldn’t help smiling at each other. Events seemed to be improving. Mod went on having brand new ideas.

“Let’s get on the Something!” she cried. “That way we can investigate those dark things on top. Maybe they’re just as delicious!”

She wasn’t asking – only letting Mr. Haneywoedle know what she would do next. With that, she bent her knees and took a great leap, and reaching the top of the Something she disappeared from view. Mr. Haneywoedle scrambled after her as quickly as he could.

I must keep Mod safe, he told himself. Really, he just didn’t want to be alone.

Up here they felt a cold and constant draft, and all sorts of hollow, far-away sounds came with it. Very softly they heard high sounds and low sounds – almost like voices (But that couldn’t be, thought Mr. Haneywoedle) - responding to each other. It was a bit creepy to hear, but no worse than anything else they’d experienced that day, and soon they tuned it out.

Looking around they saw that the top of the Something was dotted all over with these dark brown chunks, which were embedded in the Something’s surface and rose straight up. In color and texture they looked very similar to Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle, but there all likeness ended. Mod had already arrived at the nearest chunk, sniffed it, poked it, picked it and licked it and,

“It’s delicious!” she announced.

When ten and then fifteen minutes passed without Mod getting sick, they both realized their hunger and sat down to eat.

The Something was truly delicious.

They had no intention of stopping as they alternated between the Something’s rich, velvety dark pieces and Its softer, chewier tan bed. Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle ate voraciously, and the sound of their own fervent chewing drowned out the vale’s hollow sounds. So they did not realize when, about five minutes later, the white wall over the tunnel suddenly swung open – right over their heads.

Mod and Mr. Haneywoedle went on eating. Their eyelids were lowering; they were sleepy. The Something sated a hunger they hadn’t even realized they had until It came to them through the tunnel. And now as they processed the food, their exhaustion peaked. They were ready to nap. They sat down. Then they laid down. So even when a child’s sticky hand reached down and picked up the Something; even as they rose up, up into the air and out of the vale, they did not know it.

They were fast asleep.

White Hills, Red Valley, Foaming Waters, Black Sky

As they slept, they dreamed. The Candies visited Mod again. The Broccoli came to Mr. Haneywoedle – but this time he brought others with him. “This is Carrot, and this is Pea,” the Broccoli announced dramatically in his low, frowning voice.

“Oohh, good,” Mr. Haneywoedle clapped, “are you going to enact another story?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” The Broccoli thundered frowningly. “We are here to sing you a song!” And the Broccoli, the Carrot and the Pea promptly burst into song and dance.

We are come to sing

Because you have done a wrong thing

Once you were good, but now you are bad

For you have et the Something

Yes, it tasted good

But eat it is not what you should

Or would, or could but very well did

Yes you have done a wrong thing

Once you were good, but now you are bad

For you have done a wrong thing

As they sang the Broccoli, the Carrot and the Pea leaped and jumped and tumbled about with amazing velocity, sometimes careening into each other but continuing on without a flinch, as though the collisions were intentional (which of course they weren’t). Their voices clashed as much as their bodies, ringing out discordantly.

Mr. Haneywoedle stared incredulously. He’d never heard a song, let alone seen a dance before, but he had the feeling that as song-and-dances go, this wasn’t a very good one. When finally the three performers came to a breathless halt, the Broccoli stepped forward and commanded,

“Hear these words, Mr. Haneywoedle, and know: thy time is nearly ended. For thou hast corrupted thyself with foreign properties – forbidden fruit – and thou cannot sustain thyself on bread and sugar alone.”

Mr. Haneywoedle was just about to say something – a question, actually – when he woke up.

Waking up was unpleasant. Upon opening his eyes he discovered that he was – once again – in a new place, and this seemingly worse than all the places that came before.

For one thing, Mr. Haneywoedle was not lying down. He was not sitting either, or even standing. He was flying. Not in the sense you probably imagine – not flying as a bird does, steadily and in one direction. He was flying about; tumbling and tossing and bouncing about. For another thing, the surroundings against which he was relentlessly bombarded were strange, and not very nice. In the same way that the Something down in the valley had seemed friendly, this place seemed distinctly unfriendly. The surrounding walls were a dark, black cherry red, and seemed thrummed in and out tautly, the way strings on a guitar can.

And wet, ugh!

And within the walls were strange, dented white hills. Strange, because these hills pressed tight together in neat single file around three-fourths of the room’s perimeter, and were actually more like blocks than hills. And the ground below was red – a lighter red than the walls, but still a deep, ominous red, and still wet. And the ground flailed and thrummed and waved, rising and falling most unpredictably. And all around – all around – from beneath the ground, foaming waters rose gushing, lapping over the ground and spraying everywhere before sliding down and away – down a very dark and ominous hole at the back of the room which Mr. Haneywoedle was only just noticing, what with being tossed around so much. And the sky was black – that’s all there is to say. All in all a very dark and violent place – there was none of the light and air that had been in the vale, or in the echoing pit, or on the cliff. Suddenly, all of those places which seemed so frightful before now seemed warm and welcoming and safe places, compared to here.

Finally and most disturbingly, Mod was nowhere to be seen! Mr. Haneywoedle’s heart stopped for a moment, realizing that he was truly alone.

“Mod!” he cried. But his voice was drowned out by the thrumming walls and rumbling ground and roaring waters. He wanted to cry, but he was too busy bracing himself and balling up tight as he was hurled against surface after surface. Somehow, Mr. Haneywoedle stayed focused enough to reason that before he’d gone to sleep, Mod had been with him on the Something. In fact, he remembered seeing her falling asleep at the same time he did. Mr. Haneywoedle had to hope, then, that Mod had entered this awful room with him, and therefore she could only have gone one way – down the hole.

Mr. Haneywoedle realized he had no intentions of putting up with any of these horrid adventures if he was going to do it alone. He missed Mod and Pod, and that hole was his only way out. He hoped to find Mod at its end.

So he now began trying to direct himself toward the hole. Every time his body slammed into a surface, he tried to use that momentum to push off in the hole’s direction. Very quickly he succeeded, as the entire room was in the throes of a great turbulence.

What came next probably wouldn’t be of any interest to you, because it was uneventful. I shall describe it as briefly as possible. In short, Mr. Haneywoedle went down, for a very long time. He entered a series of pipes or tubes or tunnels – however you prefer to picture it (he thought of them as tunnels) – and occasionally chambers, each one dark, pulsing; unpleasant. Sometimes, Mr. Haneywoedle fell asleep. When he was not asleep he was muttering to himself, and his mutterings basically amounted to:

“Got to keep going… got to find Mod… Don’t know what I’ll do if… I wonder if she’s alright?...”

He felt himself slipping. By ‘slipping’ I don’t mean physically, for physically he was falling. But his mind was beginning to lose its grip, because of anxiety – a heightened anticipation that wasn’t seeing any closure, and as a result began to tire. He just kept on waiting and waiting, full of tense energy and the expectation – disappointed again and again – that in the next chamber he would discover a perfectly Okay Mod.

The End of Things for a Turd

He came to a particular chamber that startled him very much indeed, after having been through a series of disappointingly uneventful chambers. As he came down into this one he yawned – and then, his eyes popped open! He stared around in disbelief, for here were the Broccoli, the Carrot and the Pea. But not just one of each – there seemed to be hundreds of Broccolis, Carrots and Peas; all much tinier than the ones in his dreams, and all with very small sharp voices, like needlepoints that stuck into his eardrums.

Mr. Haneywoedle gazed around – and felt that this ought to mean something to him; ought to hold some significance, but he didn’t know what. At any rate he began to feel hopeful, because the other chambers had only been full of acids and liquids. Here there were other bodies; other faces and voices. Which meant it had not been ridiculous of him to hope that Mod had come this way.

Mod! After several moments it finally occurred to Mr. Haneywoedle to scan the chamber for his sister.

“Mod!” he called. “Mo-od!”

The Broccolis and Carrots and Peas, who had all been ignoring him or completely failed to notice him, now turned slowly to face the poor turd. They stared at him with expressions similar to the one he’d worn when he first came in: Surprise, curiosity and disbelief. For the Broccolis and Carrots and Peas had never seen anything that wasn’t their own kind. They didn’t know what this thing was! And to be honest, although he knew what they were, he didn’t feel too comfortable in their presence.

There were so many of them, that it felt distinctly as though he were trespassing. And he could see well enough that they didn’t recognize him. He cleared his throat, getting ready to ask if any of them had seen his sister Mod, when suddenly several of them stepped forward – a little too forward, so that he could feel their hot little breaths on his leg.

“Who are you?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” a hundred little voices agreed jumblingly, their voices stabbing the air. “Who are you?”

Mr. Haneywoedle looked around at them – looked closer, at their faces. He felt his stomach sinking dreadfully within him, and he couldn’t seem to pull it back up. For it was quite plain to Mr. Haneywoedle by the expression on their faces that these creatures were dangerous company.

Ah, how can I describe it? The look on their faces… it was too open. Too honestly simple; too blatantly ignorant. All of these little Broccolis and Carrots and Peas had their own truth, and that was all they wanted. For an individual with enough common sense to realize that truth exists outside of ownership, they were a dangerous lot to be hanging around – not because they had any actually bad intentions, but because their intentions were only in self-interest.

“I,” said Mr. Haneywoedle slowly, in as authoritative a voice as he could muster, “am Mr. Haneywoedle. I am a turd. And I am looking for my sister.”

All the little Broccolis and Carrots and Peas looked at each other and murmured.

“H-has she come this way?” he ventured to ask, his voice cracking with hope. Their murmuring died and they focused on him again. One of them – the same one as before – spoke.

“We haven’t seen your sister,” it informed him. It looked him up and down. “Does she look like you?”

“Well, in a way,” said Mr. Haneywoedle. “She looks more like me than she does like you, if that helps.”

A little Carrot was raising its hand. “Forgive me, but what pray tell is a turd?”

Let me take this moment to just remark: How extraordinary! For if you have not noticed already (and being very smart, I’m sure you have), Mr. Haneywoedle was seeing his own past when he looked at all the Broccolis and Carrots and Peas. And they, in return, were seeing their own future when they looked at him. But neither of them, looking at the other party, knew it. Which just goes to show how we exist and know hardly anything at all – not even our own Selves.

“W-weell,” said Mr. Haneywoedle hesitatingly, “it’s… Well it’s… I suppose…” The Broccolis and Carrots and Peas were beginning to frown with impatience. Mr. Haneywoedle noticed, and he itched his arms nervously. He decided to make something up.

“Turds are made from brown. The color brown.” He gestured to himself.

“As you can see, I am all brown. And so is my sister Mod. Anything delicious that is also brown, we are made from.” Mentally he groped. “Brownies… cookies… chocolate cake… root beer popsicles…”

And that is how Mr. Haneywoedle made his tragic mistake. For he told of delicious things – and their eyes went wide. They licked their lips hungrily, and they began to eye him up and down. Yes, Broccolis and Carrots and Peas get hungry too! They are fed before being harvested, and their hunger doesn’t go away when they are pulled from the ground. One would think they would only hunger for water and soil but, well… these things aren’t up to me.

“Do you still… taste delicious?” another Carrot whispered ominously. All of them began to inch forward, closing in around him.

“What? No – no of course not!” Mr. Haneywoedle cried. But his voice rang shrill with desperation, and they heard it.

The truth was that Mod had come this way. Unbeknownst to Mr. Haneywoedle, there was no other way to go. But like him in other chambers, she had been asleep when she passed through here, and her passing had gone silent and unnoticed. When the Broccolis and Carrots and Peas were not intentionally interrupted they were very self-absorbed, and failed to notice even the most obvious events. So they had not seen Mod, nor she them, but she had passed through here only moments before Mr. Haneywoedle.

“Please, I beg you – listen!” Mr. Haneywoedle tried to sound commanding. “I do not taste good, and I can promise that you will be sick if you try eating me.”

But the Broccolis and Carrots and Peas had already made up their minds. As I said earlier they were determined, regardless of the consequences, to taste Mr. Haneywoedle. They were closing in fast now, and Mr. Haneywoedle looked around desperately for a way past them.

There was a way out – another hole, as there had been in all the other chambers – but he had not situated himself to reach it in time. No, his back was pressed against a wall, and the little villains had taken the other three sides so that he was trapped.

Like a sea they rose up, hopping nimbly onto each other’s shoulders as if they had done this a million times before (or were made to do it). Mr. Haneywoedle was sweating terribly by now, and giving off his own scent. And while he obviously smelled nothing like brownies, cookies, chocolate cake or root beer popsicles, the little vegetables ignored this blaring warning in their nostrils all the same. Obstinately they hoped to taste exactly what had been described to them.

Suddenly, there occurred a great rumbling within the chamber. The Broccolis, Carrots and Peas paused, toppling down as they looked around in a fright. To them, everything was new, and they fell into fearful chaos as the chamber shook.

“Grab on to something!” they screamed at each other, and they ran grasping at the chamber’s walls.

But Mr. Haneywoedle knew what was happening – he’d been through such a rumbling before if you remember, at the beginning of this story – and he was unafraid. He did not reach for something to grab onto. In fact he saw this as his chance to escape! While the Broccolis, the Carrots and the Peas spread wide before him like an ebbing sea, he hurled himself forward; toward the dark hole at the chamber’s end which would lead further down.

The hole loomed before him, growing larger and larger as he hurtled forward. His eyes opened wide with a happy smile. He was free!

But not quite.

A few especially vicious little veggies saw Mr. Haneywoedle break forward. They were determined to get a chunk of his reportedly delicious backside. They let go the chamber walls; pushing off to fly after him. Next he felt tiny clawed hands grab onto him, digging in deep, and he screamed.

“Oooww-ow! Let go!” he shrieked, but to no avail. They only frowned and dug their claws in deeper as his flying mass flew forward, pulling them all down, down the hole.

Anyway, it wouldn’t have mattered if they had let go, for all of the little Broccolis, Carrots and Peas were destined to leave the chamber and fall down the same hole and through the same tunnel. Most of the veggies screamed and scrambled, clawing at each other in their desperate effort to stay in the chamber. It was, therefore, a good thing after all that Mr. Haneywoedle led their exodus, for if he’d been in the fray they’d have torn him to shreds.

Having experienced this event before (minus the savage baby veggies), Mr. Haneywoedle expected that they would come out again into a yellow sea. Instead, they came out into a cave – bigger, wider; more airy than all the chambers before. Mr. Haneywoedle fell to the floor and rolled to get away from the veggies falling down behind him. And when he stood up, already searching for another exit to escape the terrible things, he looked around and realized:

I'm home!

Mr. Haneywoedle dropped his hands and straightened out, staring all around and forgetting the veggies for the moment.

It’s just like home, anyway, he thought. It couldn’t actually be home, could it?

“Heey!” a voice called. “Is that you, Brother?”

Looking up, Mr. Haneywoedle spied something far off and away – stuck to the roof of the cave. It was Pod!

Mr. Haneywoedle gasped in happy surprise.

“Pod! Why, it’s your head! Yes, yes it’s me, your brother!” He ran forward until he was just under his brother’s stuck head. “I am so happy to see you, you’ve no idea! We’ve missed you terribly, Mod and I. Speaking of which - where is she? I’ve lost her in this confounded series of chambers and tunnels. Have you seen her?”

“Yes, she passed by. There was another earthquake.” Pod sighed. “As you can see I haven’t managed to get unstuck. But she’s gone on – gone down, to the yellow sea.”

“Oh.” Mr. Haneywoedle was sad at that. He wondered if he should try to go after her – or wait, and see if maybe she could get back to them.

Just then a great noise came from overhead. Something new was coming down to their cave through the hole above. Mr. Haneywoedle hadn’t noticed – what with being distracted by his surroundings and seeing his brother – that the horrid little veggies hadn’t come out right on his heels, as he expected. Instead they were only just now arriving – and they were no longer, strictly speaking, Broccolis, Carrots or Peas. Instead, they now looked very much like Mr. Haneywoedle!

And instead of entering as hundreds of little individual pieces, the new turds (for that is what they were) entered as three larger beings, with thousands of Broccoli, Carrot and Pea heads stuck all over in them, glaring out with thousands of tiny, vicious eyes. Mr. Haneywoedle stared in worried anticipation, not really understanding.

The new turds landed and looked about, hardly noticing Mr. Haneywoedle. Instead they went over to the hole at the far end of the cave. Murmuringly, they discussed the hole amongst themselves.

“That leads down to the yellow sea. And our sister Mod has gone that way,” said Pod from the ceiling, sighing sadly.

“Yes,” Mr. Haneywoedle suddenly remembered. It didn’t seem real – that Mod wasn’t here; that she had gone down to the yellow sea. Mod, of all of them, seemed least likely. And least deserving of such an ending, for, “She was always so cheerful,” Mr. Haneywoedle murmured sadly.

The three newcomers offered their condolences. The silence grew uncomfortably, until finally one of the new turds cleared his throat and said in an important voice, with his thousands of blinking veggie eyes,

“I’m Mr. Skossersachel. And if it seems best to you, we’ll find a place to rest out of your way.”

Mr. Haneywoedle nodded absentmindedly, not really listening, and they edged away.

He spent a good deal of time trying to find a way of getting Pod’s head down. But the walls of their cave were smooth without exception, and in the end Mr. Haneywoedle grew tired. Like the three newcomers cuddled together at the far end, he lay down and slept.

The next rumble came in the middle of the night, as all of them snored. I should say that from the time Mr. Haneywoedle left the last chamber (and Mod went down to the yellow sea) to now was only a passing of mere minutes in human time. But to them, hours had passed.

Pod’s head snored loudest from the ceiling, and echoed all around the cave. All of them perceived the first real rumble as his snoring, and so they went on dreaming peacefully. But the rumbling continued deeper, louder and more insistent with each wave, until they were all awake and screaming in terror – except for Mr. Haneywoedle and Pod, who were experiencing the quake for the third time now. Mr. Haneywoedle’s eyes opened and he smiled, his heartbeat quickening with joy.

“Mod, here I come,” he whispered.

“Grab on to something!” the others were screaming – still believing they could stay in their world as long as they liked. Pod only sighed.

“Farewell, brother,” he called down to Mr. Haneywoedle.

“Farewell!” was his brother’s reply. With that he faced the hole and pushed off. The cave shook, the air sucked; down Mr. Haneywoedle went; down, down. A light filled the tunnel, and soon he was rounding the last bend and there, below, all was bright. Closer and closer, coming up to him – or he down to it. There were the cliffs, passing on either side – but he would not escape to them this time.

There was Mod! Floating in the yellow sea, foam all around. She was smiling at him.

The yellow sea – once, they feared it. But this was their second time coming to it, and now Mr. Haneywoedle understood: it was inevitable. This was the next stage of the journey, and they must embrace it wherever it took them. And he would much rather embrace it with Mod at his side, than stay behind in a dark cave with only Pod’s woeful head and clueless newcomers to keep him company.

“Mod!” he called, as the cliffs rushed past him. “Here I come!”

Mod chuckled.