Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC.
Catherine found the Corner to be the same as it always was: boring, white, and filling her with the desire to not think about what she had just done. Her nose was runny. The wall bore the results of her using her hand to wipe her nose and having nothing else to wipe it on. As she stared at the corner of the living room which had on rare occasions served as a punishment, Catherine thought only of her changelings. She sniffled in misery, red-eyed from her stormy tantrum. It was not fair. It wasn’t fair!
She could hear the sounds of her parents cleaning up the living room, talking to each other as she partially blocked them out. Catherine was angry at her parents! The little queen had believed Daddy had thrown out her changelings on purpose. The house was only messed up just a little bit! The green stuff on the walls and the ceiling was coming off! The furniture wasn’t that bad!
“There are holes in my armchair,” Daddy said to Mommy.
The girl sighed and with deliberate slowness, turned to see what her father was talking about. From the corner of her eye, she caught Daddy plucking at the fabric of his chair.
“It’s ruined, honey. Just look at it! I think their horns did this. They had to headbutt everything. Why do they have to headbutt everything? And over a stupid television show!” He threw his arms in disgust and stormed off towards the kitchen. He stopped at the breakfast bar and leaned on the counter. “And look at the floor! Bea, just look at it! And the smell!” Frank made a helpless gesture towards the hole in his kitchen floor. “How are we going to explain that to the insurance company? Grease fire?”
“Sweetheart, please calm down.” His wife darted to him like ferret, encircling her arms around his arms and chest. She leaned into his back. “It was all an accident. These things can be fixed and replaced. It’s only money.”
The man rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “Money we really don’t have,” Frank groused. “We just redid the roof and your car is still in the shop. We’re stretched thin, babe.” Then, Daddy did something Catherine had only heard him say a few times before.
He swore. It was not a loud declaration. It was the sort born from defeat, when a catastrophe shows its aftermath. Still, it was one of the four letter words Catherine had been told to never say. Bad words were bad and Daddy just said the mother of all bad words.
The girl’s reaction was immediate. She turned back to the corner and pressed into it, feeling the cool off white wall at the tip of her nose. Squeezing her eyes as tight as she could, there came a realization sparking in her mind the changelings had made Daddy upset. Jumping out of her room and yelling at her parents had resulted with Frank looking at his daughter with such a pale face and wide and twitching eyes. He clenched his jaw then, closed those scary eyes and took a very deep breath while Mommy acted. Beatrice had taken Catherine by the shoulders and guided her to her corner.
“You do not say such things to your father!” Mommy had admonished. She had then pushed Catherine into the corner. “Stay there and think about what you just said to your father!”
Now, thinking back, Catherine could not really remember what it was she had said to Daddy. It was coming back to her, slowly, as her own anger had subsided. The little girl sniffled again and wiped her nose again. Her forearm felt icky. Catherine felt like she was going to cry again, but for a completely different reason.
Dare she speak? Dare she say something to Mommy or Daddy? Daddy looked very hurt by what Catherine had said to him. Her thoughts reflected and reflected until she finally remembered her words spoken to him.
I hate you.
Catherine felt terrible. There was a hitch in her sniffle and tears began to fall down her little cheeks. She turned from her spot in the Corner, her hands listless at her sides, her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” Catherine said in a meek, tiny little voice. She hiccupped and wiped her nose again.
Frank did not react at first. The man still was taking in the damage to his home, heaving a great sigh followed by a defeated groan.
“My brother and I can fix that for you,” said a voice barely above a squeak. It quickly added, “I am so sorry about what my family did! With most of us still stuck in a hive mind mentality, what one does, the others follow! We’re basically unsupervised nymphs—”
“Get out.”
Her ears splayed out at the coldness in the man’s voice. Angela knew she was treading in dangerous waters. His anger was unpleasant. “You were wronged. Your family’s sanctuary was violated. My brother and I can fix this. Cabbage is very good at building things. His job was to maintain the structural integrity of the hive and the tunnels beneath it. I supervised him. He may be simple-minded, but he is very focused at his work. Please. Let us undo what we have done. It’s the least we can do!”
Catherine had spun around the moment she heard the changeling’s voice. Instead of finding the female, she found Cabbage at her back, sitting on the floor and looking up at her in absolute adoration. Leaning forward, he stretched his neck out and gave the little girl a great big lick to the side of her face. Caught completely by surprise, Catherine let out a squealed mixture of laughter and shock. The corner stopped her backwards stumble and she was grinning and giggling at the changeling wearing a happy face.
“Cabbage won’t leave her,” Angela said in a tired tone. Frank and Beatrice were staring at the two changelings and their daughter. Frank appeared torn between rushing at them and listening to what Angela had to say. Beatrice went for the broom she had pulled out earlier from the basement.
“Mommy! Daddy!” Catherine cried out. “Please don’t hurt them!” Her giggles had died the moment she saw her parents begin to move. She began to cry.
“Get out!” Frank had made up his mind. The state of his home made it up for him. He grabbed the broom from his wife and wielded it like a samurai sword, bristles out. “Leave us alone! What did we do to deserve this?” Beatrice was holding him back with nothing more than a light touch to his elbow.
“Honey,” she could be heard whispering.
Angela lay on the floor and placed her head upon her crossed forelegs. “You have full rights to be angry. I am sorry. Cabbage is sorry. Aren’t you Cabbage?” She tilted her head to lock an eye on her brother.
Cabbage nodded vigorously. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” He stopped and seemed to fall into a moment of deep thought. “Potato!” His head turned towards the front door of the house.
There was a loud banging sound. It might have been knocking, a harsh rapping at the home’s front door. It was accompanied by a voice that could only be described as a banshee with a sore throat.
“Beatrice! Beatrice! Frank! What was that noise? I heard singing in your backyard! Were you throwing an unsanctioned party? We have a noise ordinance! Answer this door or so help me, I’ll call the police and file a complaint!” The door was pounded upon again, as though under siege by the Mongols.
“It’s her,” Beatrice groaned. A headache of a different sort began to take root behind her eyes. “I knew she’d show up. I just knew it!”
Frank dropped the broom. “What about them?” he asked, jabbing a finger at the changelings. Catherine held Cabbage in a protective hug.
“Who is it?” asked Angela as she tilted her head to one side. Her curious desire to know brought her to her hooves. She moved towards the door, tilting her snoot up into the air. Her nostrils flared. “Such bitterness. I can taste the bitterness. Such an unpleasant individual.” Angela scrunched her muzzle as she made a face. “Yeck!”
“Dud spud!” Cabbage agreed with his sister wholeheartedly. He sat up, tall, proud, and stern.
“What do we do?” Angela asked. Her eyes left the door and flicked between Beatrice and Frank for a few moments before falling upon Catherine. Before they could answer, she spoke to Cabbage with a chittering sound. He responded by chirping once and in a loud manner.
“Do you have a bird in there?” screeched the banshee with the sore throat. It was the penetrating sort of voice that could shatter glass. Angela could feel the vibrations of that horrid voice ping her horn and ripple down its length and into her skull. It was not a pleasant experience in any way, shape, or form. The sound traveled through her body and down her legs, where her holes caught them, giving off an unpleasant reverberation much akin to pins and needles.
The pounding on the door resumed.
“It’s Lindsey Crawford, our next door neighbor,” Beatrice hissed. “You two need to hide! She won’t go away and she will call the police if we don’t answer!”
The woman remembered a lot of the unpleasant things her horrible neighbor had done in the past. Underhanded things. Using the neighborhood charter and the city laws to her advantage. The woman believed herself to be the moral authority for the neighborhood. Having never had children herself, she absolutely hated them. She was the witch you did not visit on Halloween for candy.
Angela stared at the door. She moved towards the hall, slinking as she went. “Cabbage!” she hissed at her brother. He stared back at her stupidly, his tongue lolling out to the side as Catherine petted his head fin.
Green fire engulfed him. When it fell away, in his place was a dog. Specifically a brown and black German Shepherd. He laughed with solid blue eyes before a green flash turned them to a soulful brown. Cabbage was still hanging his tongue out, laughing in silence. Catherine squealed in delight at the sudden big furball having taken shape in her arms. The dog was slightly larger than the changeling, but still smaller than the average Shepherd. Cabbage barked. It matched him perfectly.
The relentless assault on the door continued unabated. “A dog? When did you get a dog?” the horrible, shrill voice demanded.
Awkward silence followed by a pregnant pause was only interrupted by what lay on the other side of the front door. Cabbage did not seem to notice he was the focus of the attention.
“One moment!” Beatrice called out. She reached out with her fingers and pried the broom from her husband’s grip. “Honey. No beatings,” the woman told him. She then rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.
Frank was ready to assault the door himself. The yelling matches between him and Mrs. Lindsey Crawford were legendary. The last incident had to do with leaves from a maple tree in his backyard falling into hers. The branches hung over the fence and she had demanded several times for him to trim his branches. However, she forbade him from setting foot on her property and would not let a tree trimming service set foot on her precious lawn. The old woman was, for all intents and purposes, impossible to deal with.
“Stay.” Beatrice patted her husband on the chest. Lindsey somewhat tolerated the woman. A few steps later, she was before the door, smoothing the front of her shirt before unlatching the lock on the door. Putting on her best smile, she opened it.
On the other side of the threshold and appearing as a blight on what should have been a beautiful sunlit Saturday, stood the smallest, skinniest, meanest woman that ever cursed a doorstep. It was once whispered if the Devil ever took a bride, Lindsey Crawford would get first dibs. The scowl upon her face was etched deeply with the wrinkles of a life of hard work. Her white hair was short. Her ears were like jugs hanging from a porch. Her light blue eyes carried no mirth, and were like the iceberg before it struck the Titanic. Lindsey Crawford was once described as an Irish woman forced into alcohol rehabilitation against her will. She also coated herself in enough perfume to kill a skunk.
Before Beatrice could say anything, the old woman shoved her way past her and into the living room. She glared at Frank, noting the broom in his hand with a sniff. The murder in his eyes came complete with a pair of tombstones with the letters RIP etched upon them.
“Get out of my house,” the man growled. It was pointless to make such a demand. After all, the changelings had ignored it. Now Old Leatherface was within his domain, lording over it like a conquering queen demanding her tribute.
“Your wife let me in,” she retorted. “What was that noise? What’s been going on? What in the world happened to your house? What is with this green… whatever it is? Why do you have a dog? It’s a large, vicious brute! It’s dangerous! Get rid of it. What is with the smell in here? Did a cow leave a pie in here?” Mrs. Crawford gestured with her arms, pointing with a bony finger wherever her attention took her.
“Mrs. Crawford,” Beatrice began, still wearing her smile. “We had a bit of an accident.”
“Are you cooking drugs in here?”
“No, we are not.”
Mrs. Crawford turned on Cabbage. “That is a big, vicious dog. Dogs of that size are not allowed in this neighborhood. It is against the association’s charter! Twenty-five pounds or less! You know the rules! Get rid of it. I will call the authorities and hold you in violation of the agreement you signed when you bought this house. You’ll drive down the value of the neighborhood! You’ll open the door for unwanted families to come in!”
The horrible, horrible woman glared at Catherine, who hugged Cabbage even tighter. The girl’s green eyes were wide with fear as she stared up at the tiny old lady. Cabbage, indifferent to the woman’s scathing personality, simply panted happily. He did not even bother to acknowledge Mrs. Crawford’s existence.
“He’s a stray we found,” Frank rumbled. “If you have an issue with it, too bad.” He white knuckled the broom handle.
The woman harrumphed. “I will call the associate board members and file a grievance. You have until Monday to get rid of the dog.” Her wrinkles rolled as she worked her jaw, her eyes roaming towards the direction of the kitchen. “What is that smell? It’s horrid!”
It wasn’t as bad as it had been, but Beatrice still tried to remain diplomatic. “We had a bit of an accident while cooking. It will be fixed. Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Crawford.”
She glared at Beatrice with such malice as to turn the sun into a cold, dead lump of rock. “See to it you do get it fixed,” Mrs. Crawford commanded. She sneered. “I was against letting you and your family move into the neighborhood. Get rid of the mongrel. Stop being an eyesore to this neighborhood! I’ll be watching!”
“You’re always watching,” Frank said humorlessly. “Always being a cantankerous old bi—”
“Frank!” Beatrice snapped.
“—ddy.” Her husband fell silent, but glared at the old woman.
“I promise you, we’ll have everything fixed.”
Mrs. Crawford gave the woman a lofty glare. “See that you do. What was with the singing I heard? It came from your house and moved through your backyard and into the woods. What was that?”
“I can’t say.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“That’s private.”
“I can find out.”
“I’m sure you can, Mrs. Crawford,” Beatrice replied with practiced calm. “I’m sure there is a lot of privacy you enjoy violating simply because you live such a sad, miserable life of making others feel as miserable as you always do.”
The old woman chuckled, if a mummified corpse was capable of such an act. “It must be so nice to have the perfect family, Beatrice. Well, I must be going,” she announced with grand airs and a huff. “Do clean up. Get rid of the dog. There’s something going on here and I will find out.” Without further adieu, Mrs. Lindsey Crawford departed like a mummified Egyptian queen.
Beatrice saw her out the door and even waved farewell before closing the door.
“She’ll call the cops,” Frank seethed. “She’ll do it because she thinks we’re doing something illegal. They’ll see the hole in the floor and they’ll get suspicious! She heard the changelings. I knew she’d hear them! Bea! What are we going to do?” Desperation was in his voice. “She’ll go to the association and take our house!”
Angela returned from where she had been hiding. “I would like to help. I am a structural engineer and Cabbage can repair almost anything if given the right direction. We can have that hole in the floor patched and looking like new. A little bit of materials, a little bit of magic…”
“Potato!” cried the changeling-turned-dog.
“What about the green stuff all over the living room?”
Angela poked at a pile of the stuff that had fallen from the ceiling and on to the floor. “Oh, this is just a sort of goop we changelings can make. It’s usually harmless and easy to clean up. It’s primary use is as a sealant and mortar for building. I think what happened was my brothers and sisters got excited and were inadvertently secreting our goo.” She held up a hoof and pointed at one of the larger holes in her leg. “It comes from here.”
“That’s disgusting!”
“No. It’s natural. That old hooman… now that was disgusting!” Angela shuddered.
Frank, meanwhile, was lost in thought. “Can you really fix everything?”
“Yep! Part of being a changeling is learning to adapt to your environment.” The changeling flit her wings and adjusted her stance, leaning towards Frank. “And we seem to share a common enemy,” Angela whispered. “This… old hooman. She is a problem you have had for a while, am I right?”
Beatrice held up her hands. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! What are you suggesting? If you think I’m going to let you hurt someone simply because they’re unpleasant and about as friendly as an irate water buffalo, you’re sadly mistaken!”
“Oh no! Nothing like that!” Angela fell on her haunches and flailed her hooves at the human as if waving off the implications. She mirrored Beatrice with uncanny similarity. “We can keep an eye on her and deflect her attention. We’re civilians. We’re not soldiers! The very idea of harming another being feels all sorts of wrong. It’s one of the reasons why we left Mother. She could be very cruel at times.”
Frank cleared his throat. “So… is that why you guys left her?”
“All we need and want is love, Mr. Hooman.”
Cabbage piped up. “All together now!”
I already hate Crawford! And it takes a lot for me to hate someone!
Edit: I actually know someone like this in real life. Let's just say he's more... aggressive than Crawford. (He chopped down my neighbor's fence.)
7150844
They say that she'd be the devil's wife, but why would the devil want to take his work home with him?
In a similar vein, she'll be one of those ones that live to a hundred and five years, simply because god does not want her.
Well as cabbage said all together now
Hahahahaha!!! love the changelings and they should give the 'Old Biddy' a few good frights .
While the changelings won't hurt her, I would fully expect them to accept mild torture as an acceptable compromise. You think termites are bad, lets see how you deal with these "bugs" pranking you mercilessly.
7150881 sings along with Cabbage
7150844 When I was 14, we had a neighbor who threatened to kill me with a chainsaw and then called the cops on me for 'menacing' him. He tresspassed in our yard to cut down our trees, smashed up his own fence to blame it on us, and filed half a dozen false police reports. We got lucky and one of them was provably untrue, otherwise my parents would probably be in prison.
(all together now!)
Tie me kangaroo down, sport...
Tie me kangaroo down
...and that's probably not the song you had in mind.
Wow that was quick.
That right there, that's trespassing. She forced her way into the house without permission and refused to leave when asked. They can absolutely call the cops on her and get her legally barred from entering their property in the future, although with someone like that I'm not sure how much it would really help. Also, depending on where they live it is possible that they could use castle doctrine to at least forcibly eject her from their home (and if she gets hurt in the process that's just too bad), especially because they could use Catherine's presence to justify themselves as protecting a minor.
Just take that horrid woman's appearance and discredit her one way or another.
7151060 And in the most extreme (and most preferable with Ms. Crawford) sense, kill the bitch! That's how it is here in Texas
But then again, no idea where this is, so a good to the frying pan to the noggin could work too. And it's so satisfying
Cabbage best dog 2016
I unfortunately have the pleasure of living next to one of these people. Calls the cops when there's somebody else doing anything, but once her god damned son and grandson are doing it, it's perfectly fine. One example, was when my family owned a go-kart. If we drove in the back field, moments later the police were called. Her son goes on his four-wheeler and we don't hear shit for miles.
May Miss Crawford and my own nasty neighbor meet terrible terrible fates, and may Frank be empowered and blessed to be the one who gets her ass arrested.
Ergh, that old lady in this chapter unnerves me. I hope the changelings can deal with her fast, because I'm already hating Mrs. Crawford already.
7151060 you know what's awesome in Texas? They would have completely legal rights to shoot her for doing that, and I dare somebody to try it. And the branch hanging over her lawn? Cut it down and watch it fall in her yard
Hopefully she dies of shock.
Oh Lord, I already despise that old witch.
Cabbage continues to be best
changelingdog.I hope somewhere far away Chryssie is getting better.
Ah yes. We had one of those.
Emphasis on HAD...
*Alondro lives in central NJ... people disappear there all the time...*
7151657 Rub some MRSA on her front doorknob.
Biological revenge is best revenge.
Ah, it's one of those gated communities. All the little Hitler-wannabes end up in those. Here in NJ, we hear about the horrors of living in them all the time. Never, ever, would I choose to live in a place that dares to command me on what plants I may grow. I would have to infect everyone will all manner of diseases to satisfy my aggravation. (Biologists are terrifying people...)
Frank, however, looked suddenly interested, "Now, maybe we should hear them out on this..." An evil grin stretched across his face. "Changelings, I believe we can make a deal..."
And so began Frank's ascension into the boss of a new super-villain group.
It's "without further ado," as in Much Ado About Nothing, not "without further adieu," which would just mean there were no further farewells.
That pet peeve aside, I enjoyed this chapter. That was a superbly hatable crone.
So. Obey, the Witch. Trim the damn tree. The parts you can reach. If it falls, it falls. Record everything she says and does. Get a 25lb dog. the ones that think they're some sort of cross between an angry shepherd and a mastiff. Sing.
If she calls you out, you played by the rules. And say it was Catherine singing. Is she going to hate a little girl for singing?
Burn her house down when she's gone for the weekend. Get the changelings to do it.
Better yet, have them transform into her and act like she does to whoever hates it the most. Or get her sent to a nursing home.
Or drive her nuts with the invisible creatures ruining her lawn and talking to her at night.
Well, that was unpleasant.
Why do I have a feeling that there will be a transformation from an old hag to a sad old lady who just needs to have friends? And not a transformation in a way of being replaced by a 'ling
I can imagine TK screwing with Ms. Crawford.
I think the last page of this comic strip sums up Ms. Crawford the best absurdnotions.org/an20000122.gif
7159162 It wouldn't take much, I'd guess. A good start might be to float random objects around her house occasionally, turn the TV or some lights on or off--but not when anyone else is there to see it... The usual ghost-story stuff. Police officers love being called in to check out ghost stories. <Best prank EVER!)
The descriptions and prose from chapter nine about 'the Mummy' were simply top notch. I was caught completely by surprise by this chapter and I love the direction it's taking.
and thanks to the changelings she was never seen again....please do that.
I don't know, I mostly don't really enjoy that magicall need to sing, at least not if it is treaten supernatural, however I can live with it.
. . . People like this Ms. Crawford make my arson glands start pumping. Thank [Insert Deity Here] that gated communities like this don't exist here in Sweden.
Sure, you can join neighborhood associations but you don't have to, and the only way that they can force you to do anything is if you've signed a contract to that effect.
I don't know about the majority of the US, but over here you can always physically remove someone from your place of residence if they've refused to leave when asked. You're supposed to use the minimum force required, but it does allow you to literally toss them on their ass if that's what's required. Calling the cops is also an alternative.
As to the people from Texas talking about how they could legally shoot her in this scenario . . . well, laws like that are why I'm happy I live where I do. Here that would be called murder and would get you ten to life, unless she was coming at you with a knife or something, of course. Disregarding the fact that guns of any kind are a vanishing rarity in this country, obviously.
Just thinking of the local supply of morons, wannabee toughs, and fuckheads being able to legally and with minimal limitations purchase guns is enough to give me chills. Brr . . .
Damnit! Cabbage beat me to the punch.
And damn, that lady is the middle classes worst nightmare. Though down here where I live, i could legally shove her out of my house.
7169144 The nationalistic mentality is not appreciated. You are free to disagree, but demeaning others because of their views is improper. It is subtle, but your obvious despising of firearm owners is noticeable as is your obvious dislike of Americans. Please refrain from making such comments as it helps nobody.
Most effective way to manage a hateful old crone like this is to use her own methods against her.
I don't give a damn about appearances, the moment that old lady starts pounding on my door threatening to call the cops about noise ordinances I'm calling the police and reporting her for violating that exact noise ordinance. The moment she pushes her way into my house I'm charging her with trespassing. I have a zero tolerance for bullies like her.
Stop insulting witches and mummified corpses. They are beloved by children enough to dress up as them on Halloween and we make movies about them.
Nobody would want a paper decoration of this woman near their house.
7434451
Burn the witch! Burn the mummy! Burn the *itch!
First Lina, then Linda, and now Lindsey? What is this woman's name?! Also, "Mrs."? Someone actually married this monster?
So... It's been maybe a day, two at most, and there's already been three musical numbers, three fainting spells, and an angry
crayfishwoman. Damn, no wonder Mr. Thomas is so stressed.Oop, misspelled "bae" there ;D
He'd try to run away, of course. But in vain
Oh wow
Well, seems that in a choice offered to Frank between changelings and Mrs Crawford, the changelings would score a stunning victory
Smooth
Remarks and corrections:
> Aren’t you Cabbage?
Yes, he is indeed "Cabbage". To make it a question directed at Cabbage, you need to add a comma before the name.
> It’s primary use is as a sealant
"[Its] primary use"
7222287
ugh. reminds me of several YouTube videos about HMOs...