Gurgleplop

“Old witch, Gurgleplop, she likes her repetition

Her curse is foul, just as her bowels, and leads to your perdition

Old hag, Gurgleplop, eats to her volition

Once you disgorge, her will is forged and feeds as your mortician!”

“Ah, Baelin, good to see ya. You hear those fools singin’ again in there?” asked a patron smoking a pipe outside the town’s tavern. A sign painted with a Green Egg swung above the man’s head as he said, “You’d think they’d get tired of that old song, but they just keep singin’ it and singin’ it.”’

Baelin knew the tavern well, as did most folks in these parts. The Green Egg. Everyone considered it the rowdiest drinking hole this side of the western woods, and it was just what Baelin needed after getting an earful from the missus earlier in the day.

“Aye,” Baelin said as he approached the tavern. “That why ya takin’ a breath of fresh air, Jon?”

“Aye,” Jon said and blew out a puff of smoke. “Just tired of that song, I reckon. If that old hag ever tried to curse me, I’d gut her before she’d put a spell on me, I tell ya.”

“Well, a little singing ain’t gonna keep me from the ale,” Baelin said and opened the heavy wooden door to go inside for a drink.

The Green Egg was having quite a ruckus of a night. Baelin pushed past swaying patrons spilling beer over mugs as they laughed, shouted, and sang.

“Hey, James, bring me some ale,” Baelin asked the bartender.

“Baelin! That wife of yours kicked you out again?” James said with a smile, reaching out to clasp Baelin on the shoulder.

“Less talking, more drinking,” Baelin responded and brushed James’ hand off his shoulder. James shook his head from behind the bar and grabbed a mug for the man. James filled the mug for Baelin, who immediately grabbed it and upturned the contents into his mouth in a single continuous pull.

“Now, now! That’s the Baelin I know!” James said with a laugh. “I swear that gullet of yours is a prize! You can throw just about anything down it, eh?”

Baelin slammed his mug on the bar and said, “Give me another. And keep’em coming!”

James laughed again and poured Baelin another drink. Eventually, Baelin wandered from the bar to return home to his wife. A mist had formed in the evening, and it was hard to see the muddy road home. He stumbled and soon left the road to find himself lost in the misty, deep woods.

Baelin leaned on a tree and then relieved himself with his trousers dropped to his ankles. He passed out there, standing as he dozed off to sleep. The moon was high overhead when Baelin slipped off the tree and fell to the ground. When he did, he awoke to find a figure standing over him. Baelin’s head throbbed, his vision blurred, and he strained to see the unsettling dark-cloaked figure frightening him.

“W-Who are you?” Baelin asked the figure who stood over him.

“I’m the witch of these woods.” The witch’s voice had the roughness of sandpaper and was as shrill as fingernails dragged across slate.

Baelin’s fear sobered him, and his eyes focused on the witch’s hood. Baelin reached for his trousers and quickly pulled them up, then jumped awkwardly to his feet. The world tilted as he rose. He towered over the cloaked figure that was no taller than a child.

“I’m in no mood to trifle with the likes of some old hag living in the woods. Begone!” Baelin said and pushed her with enough force to throw her to the ground, but instead, she dodged and grabbed Baelin by the arm.

“My name is Gur—” the cloaked woman said, but the words seemed to cut off as she choked and coughed.

Baelin’s flesh tore as he tried to jerk away—the witch’s nails dug deep, and his blood poured from wounds. Where the woman’s hand grasped him, her fingers grew sharp like the talons of a hawk and latched on as strong as a root that trips one’s steps in a thicket. The hag cackled a raspy laugh, then pulled on Baelin’s arm with a strength unnatural to her stature, causing Baelin to be brought to his knees. He was now face-to-face with the witch. Baelin tried to use his other hand to pry her talons from his arm, but the grip tightened, causing Baelin to roar. He struggled to escape the hag’s grasp, but her grip was like a vice, and all his struggle only made the talons dig deeper into his flesh. 

The hag used her free hand to pull back the hood of her cloak and again tried to speak, “My name is Gurgle—” but again coughed, hacked, and wheezed, unable to finish saying her name. Baelin could see something bulging in her throat and was frozen in terror as he stared into the witch’s yellow eyes. The witch’s face was horrid. It was a patchwork of old and new flesh. Some spots on her face looked like the skin was hundreds of years old and decaying so much on her cheek that you could see through it to the icky yellow gums inside her mouth. Yet, other parts of her skin were new, like a baby’s supple, tender skin, fresh with life, and near her chin, the skin was scruffy whiskers like a man in his prime and full of vigor.

The witch smiled, showing jagged and broken decaying teeth, then said, “My name is Gurgle… plop.” The last syllable came with hesitation, but when the witch said, “plop,” a green egg-shaped stone covered in yellow slime fell out of her mouth onto the leaves of the forest floor.

Gurgleplop quickly picked up the stone and shoved it against Baelin’s mouth, chipping his front tooth. Baelin’s lips pinched painfully between the stone egg and his jagged tooth, smearing blood on his cheeks. The hag pushed on the stone, grinding it against his teeth, but Baelin clenched his jaw. Baelin thought he was in a nightmare, but the pain caused by this impish creature made him sure this witch’s grip was real. He wanted to scream but dared not open his mouth for this foul creature’s egg.

“Eat, so I can eat,” Gurgleplop said and began snorting, sniffling, and gurgling until a yellow slime seeped from the corners of her crusted lips. She pulled back the stone briefly, cackled, and then yelled, “Give granny a kiss!” Gurgleplop pulled on Baelin’s arm, bringing him close, then puckered her lips onto his forcing a yellow liquid through Baelin’s lips, filling his mouth. 

It tasted like a mix of yogurt and fish oil. Baelin opened his mouth to spit out the foulness, but as he did, the witch again shoved the egg-shaped stone into his mouth. She drove the stone down his throat, and he bit the witch’s hand before panic made him gasp for air. She pulled away from him and melded with the shadows of the dark woods. Baelin felt lightheaded and unable to breathe until he reflexively swallowed and felt the stone fall into his stomach with a plop. The heaviness of the egg in his stomach made Baelin’s eyes roll back into his head with exhaustion before collapsing.

Baelin awoke in the woods, covered in leaves and dirt. It was daylight now. He felt hungover, and glancing at the sky seemed to imply it was afternoon. As the memory of the previous night came upon him, he checked his arm. Scratches were there, but they didn’t look nearly as severe as the wounds from his dream.

“Just a dream,” he said to himself.

But it was not a dream.

When Baelin found the muddy road and walked home, his fat wife was waiting on the porch. He didn’t like her much because she talked back to him.

“Where have you been?” Baelin’s wife, Jaga, asked with the triteness of disheartened matrimony.

“I was at the Green Egg and don’t need your huffing at me asking questions. I just want to go inside for a nap.”

“A nap?” she asked incredulously. “There are still chores to do about. You got fields that ain’t been worked in a week, and you’re out all night without a care. So, you say you ain’t off with no hussy at the Green Egg? Get’s harder and harder to believe each night you don’t come home. I ain’t having it, I tell ya!”

Jaga descended from the porch to face Baelin before he walked onto the steps of his own house. Her face was red, and her clothes were dirty from doing the chores Baelin neglected. When Baelin looked at his wife, he thought of her as a fat pig and wondered how she kept such a big belly when he ate twice as much. He certainly knew Jaga’s fat belly wasn’t from a baby; she was barren.

“If you aren’t going to help around today, you best just go back where ya came from. Maybe if you get back tomorrow and I see you in the fields, you can come inside, but not today! Oh no, you just get on outta here!”

Baelin became furious. He had been through a rough night with crazy dreams and such, falling asleep in the woods, and it was starting to make him feel hungry… and thirsty. In fact, he knew the only thing that might make him feel better was to have a few ales at the Green Egg.

His anger faded at the thought of a nice, smooth ale, so he said to Jaga, “I’m going to the Green Egg if you need to find me for more yelling.” With that, he turned and started walking back down the muddy road to the tavern.

The sun was setting as Baelin approached the Green Egg, and he could already hear them singing that damn song again.

“Old witch, Gurgleplop, she likes her repetition

Her curse is foul, just as her bowels, and leads to your perdition

Old hag, Gurgleplop, eats to her volition

Once you disgorge, her will is forged and feeds as your mortician!”

  Baelin looked down at his arm, and his scratches had disappeared. He smiled, thinking about how the song must’ve seeped into his thoughts and invaded his dreams. Or did that happen the night before last, he thought?

“Ah, Baelin, good to see ya. You hear those fools singin’ in there?” asked Jon, smoking a pipe. “You’d think they’d get tired of that old song, but they just keep singin’ it and singin’ it.”’

“Well, a little singing ain’t gonna keep me from the ale,” Baelin said and went inside.

The rest of the night went about the same as the previous one, and the one previous to that, and maybe the one previous to that for all Baelin could remember. It seemed that his memories always got hazy before drinking, but that had nothing to do with anything except the drink itself. Either way, it was late when Baelin left the Green Egg, and he stumbled down the muddy road.

The mist had returned tonight, and Baelin again lost his way. He was in the woods just like the previous night, but something in his drunken stupor scared him. He dared not fall asleep, but he was very tired. Maybe tired wasn’t the right word. He felt…heavy.

“I just need to rest my legs a bit,” he said as he plopped down on some leaves with his back against a tree.

To Baelin’s credit, he did not fall asleep. Although, this was likely due to the increasing discomfort he was feeling in his stomach. At first, he thought he had just drunk too much, but the pain kept getting worse, and soon he found himself writhing in pain.

“Aye, I promise not to touch the ale again! For it will be my death if this pain is any tell!”

“Aye,” came a voice in reply. It sounded like branches scratching against a window during a storm. “You will not touch the drink again, but oh, the other you’s will.”

Baelin squinted into the dark and saw Gurgleplop calmly and slowly walk toward him. Baelin burped uncontrollably, and a twisting pain in his gut made him feel that he might be split in two. He started rolling on the ground and convulsing. Gurgleplop sang in her harrowing voice,

“Old witch, Gurgleplop, she likes her repetition

Her curse is foul, just as her bowels, and leads to your perdition

Old hag, Gurgleplop, eats to her volition

Once you disgorge, her will is forged and feeds as your mortician!”

Gurgleplop smiled as she sang the short song over and over. She licked her lips and eyed Baelin like a buffet as he rolled about. When Baelin’s energy to act from the pain was sapped, he lay motionless, yellow liquid dripping from his mouth. Gurgleplop approached Baelin and helped him sit upright. Standing, she was as tall as he was sitting. Her hand was on his back, and she started hitting it gently as if he was a baby.

“There, there, my sweet. It will be over for you soon.”

Baelin began experiencing massive gut contractions and knew it was the egg. He gagged and coughed, regurgitating the egg slowly. The egg stuck in his throat several times, but it was dislodged with a hefty smack on the back by Gurgleplop. Then, in a final mighty heave, Baelin felt his ribs crack, and jaw unhinge as the green egg-shaped stone fell from his trembling lips with a plop.

Through watery eyes, Baelin could see that the egg had become bigger. In fact, as he watched it, it grew. The decaying leaves crackled under the egg and caused an indentation from the mass it gained.

Gurgleplop picked up the egg using both hands and held it close to her belly. She waddled reverently toward Baelin then placed it before his crippled form. Baelin was paralyzed by fear, pain, or magic; he did not know. Gurgleplop then stripped Baelin of his clothes, stacking them neatly a few feet away. 

“It’s not so often that one sees themselves born, my sweet. Well, except for you. And that’s why I like to start from the bottom up… so you can watch.”

Gurgleplop removed a knife and fork from under her cloak and began cutting strips of flesh from Baelin, starting with his feet. As she ate him, he felt no more pain. Instead, he was entranced by watching the egg grow with each of Gurgleplop’s bites. By the time Gurgleplop was consuming his second breast, the egg Baelin had regurgitated was as large as a man.

“Ah, now is the time of rebirth,” Gurgleplop said. And as she did, the egg hatched, and an unconscious man appeared, sprawled and naked. Baelin saw the face of the man was his own.

Gurgleplop ate her meal, bones and all, then put the old Baelin’s clothes onto the new Baelin, knowing he would wake the next day to see her again. She sang as she strolled through the forest in wait,

“Old witch, Gurgleplop, she likes her repetition

Her curse is foul, just as her bowels, and leads to your perdition

Old hag, Gurgleplop, eats to her volition

Once you disgorge, her will is forged and feeds as your mortician!”