Fee Fi Fo Fum

It was all Jack’s fault.

If he had followed his mother’s instructions and gone to market instead of entering into the foolish barter with the stranger, he would never have climbed into that alien domain. And, if ignoring his mother wasn’t sinful enough, the boy then went and stole from the creature in the clouds. In that selfish, illegal act, Jack brought doom upon all mankind.

Blinded by the hypnotic sheen of the golden eggs, Jack’s mother had failed to chide her son upon his return. Even a week after his escapade, with the beastly corpse stinking to high heaven and attracting all manner of bugs, she chose to revel in the spoils of his crime rather than teach him the wrong of his deeds.

As the air grew of rancid and the blight of insects increased, she packed up their belongings and moved them far away to the city where she spent the rest of her days being courted by devious aristocrats who only had eyes for Jack’s precious goose.

And so it was that no-one was present to see the beanstalk gain new life. Nutrients from the huge dead body fed its roots and soon enough it stretched once more to the skies.

*

Huntrema wandered Blunderbore’s gardens. It had been two weeks since her betrothed had gone missing and his family were now considering a memorial in his honour. For her part, Huntrema refused to believe Blunderbore had passed away. He was a legend among the skifelk, rational and considerate. He was not prone to flights of fancy nor likely to disappear on a fool’s errand. Huntrema was convinced someone had kidnapped him. There was no other reason she could conceive that he would leave her all alone.

To escape the depressing talk of services and order of speeches, Huntrema fled to her lover’s grounds. In his flowers and shrubs, his spirit still existed and she hoped to find comfort there. What she was not expecting to find was the coarse and ugly plant invading the tranquillity. From an insipid green stem spouted rough-looking, heart-shaped leaves and pods that seemed ready to burst with fetid juice.

The foreign growth did not emerge from the misty soil but from a hole it must have caused. Huntrema peered through the gap and looked down, down, down to the place from which this monstrosity grew; the underground.

As with all civilisations, the skifelk held many myths. Some were concerned with the creation of the skifelk race, life which sprang from Moon’s tears when she was parted from Sun. Some were cautionary tales of tribes of monsters which lived in distances beyond the reach of skifelk. And some were only told at night-time or to scare children into behaving.

These stories mainly told of impish creatures which lived far below the ground, races of devils who would carve and claw at one another in their blind attempts to dominate. Huntrema has stopped believing in these fairy tales when she was young, dismissing the thought that the dreaded oomas could be real.

But now, staring at the depth from which this alien branch has come, she knew the stories were true.

*

A contingent of skifelk stood around the grotesque plant, discussing the importance of the find.

‘We need to burn it,’ said Ufo, the town mayor. ‘Eradicate its presence and ensure word does not get about.’

‘Nonsense,’ Albertum cried. ‘This is of great scientific discovery. We must study it. Perhaps even explore the depths and seek life down there.’

‘But what of the dreaded oomas?’ Gertruo asked.

Ufo and Albertum answered at the same time: ‘Piffle,’ and ‘Codswallop.’

‘If there were life down there,’ Albertum elaborated, ‘it is sure to be of the lowest order. There is no danger to be faced, of that I am sure.’

‘The danger lies not in those recesses,’ Ufo said, ‘but that other Skifelk may try to find different routes to the depths. This is why we must destroy it at once and speak no more of it.’

As the men descended into arguing, none noticed Huntrema approach. Clad in hiking boots, layers of thick clothing and shouldering a large bag she stepped boldly to the offending stem.

‘Squabble amongst yourselves,’ she said loudly. ‘It is all you’re good for. There is a chance my dearheart Blunderbore is down there and I will not abandon him while you poke at one another with words.’

Watched by the silenced crowd, Huntrema leapt from the mist, caught hold of the stalk and began her long descent.

*

She was still hundreds of feet from the underground when she saw the shape of Blunderbore. Ravaged by time and insects, the corpse no longer held any resemblance to her lover but for the gracious lines and girth of his body. Though she prayed she was wrong, her broken heart told her he beloved was dead.

Huntrema loosed a cry which shook the underground.

At the end of her climb, she rested her hand on her lover’s head and swore a vengeance on who- or whatever had killed him. Wiping a tear from her eye, she turned her back on the beanstalk and set forth with grim determination. Somewhere down here was the oomas who had robbed her of her love, and he was full of bones. Any other oomas who stood between her and her prey were also filled with bone.

Huntrema would have her fill of bread before this day was done.