Four Bat Stories

Bats are prevalent in the Netherworld, often flying countless miles for meals, to explore, to deliver messages. While some live in towns and villages, such as Peyroux, others prefer forests and caves.


Hungry for Treats

The bat made a sound indicating it wanted treats, to which I was all to happy to oblige. Hanging from my fingers, it ate them with a greedy, aristocratic air. The bat knew how lovely and stately its elegant wings were.

“How did the universe concoct such a perfect creature?” I asked, receiving only slurping noises in reply as it ate the sweet fruit. “Reality, a lens, and you are the focal point.”

The bat’s black eyes regarded me a moment and I knew immeasurable joy.


Bat Names

We name each and every bat that roosts in our fair village of Peyroux (lest they are sentient and bring their own names, of course), and so would like to welcome:

  1. Sebastian
  2. Cheesedoodle (sister to Filferdoodle)
  3. Frank
  4. Jorge
  5. Hedwig (he came gnawing on a copy of Harry Potter)
  6. Peanut
  7. Buttons
  8. Filferdoodle (sister to Cheesdoodle)
  9. Grumpenstein (bit of a forehead on that one, adorable all the same)
  10. Pompadour
  11. Snackcake
  12. Muertito
  13. Balderdash (has wee little bald spot)

At the beginning of time, which began shortly after  the founding of witchcraft:

“Right then, and they will fly on brooms and take their cat along. Yes, that makes sense.”

“…shouldn’t it be bat? Cats don’t fly.”

“What? Oh, damn. Well, I’ve already written it out, I’m sure it will be fine.”

(fast forward countless ages)

“Trust me, Miss Marshmallow, you’re not going to fall please stop scratching me please stop biting me OW FR–”


Late Supper

A bat stretches it’s wings wide in a magnificent flex and ponders the cool night air. It’s ears twitch. Hunger. With a screech, it flies.

“You are a bit late tonight, Mortimer! I was worried,” the old witch giggles dryly, letting the creature in. A small plate of food is ready, piping hot. The bat squeaks heartily in greeting. It listens to her stories until she dozes off, then leaves with a quiet flapping of leathery wings.

Later, elsewhere: “Noir! Hungry?”

“Harper!” “Bean!” “Belladonna!”

A dozen homes, names, and meals. The bat makes it’s way around town, delighting in the adoration and attention.