“You’d better come with me”, Molin said, not unkindly. This was surprising, as she was not known for her friendliness. Marlin had feared this moment. As long as he could remember he had known it would come. It was inevitable for any young male of the flock, and it was surrounded by mystery. Marlin had seen his elder brothers and their friends disappear for days after a similar summons from Molin.
The old female lived in a part of the expanse where no one voluntarily visited. She came into the more densely populated areas only to collect food and clothes or take the older boys. Marlin wondered if his brothers and all the others who had been called upon had also been surprised at Molin’s uncharacteristic and unexpected kindness. He had marvelled at the old hag’s presence for as long as he could remember. Come to think of it, no one had ever told him what her exact status or even role was in their community. She had just been there. Always. And every once in a while she came to the little cluster of dwellings where most of them lived.
Molin was said to be one of them, but Marlin wasn’t entirely certain about that. The few times he’d seen her she seemed to him slightly different from the rest of them. It wasn’t quite noticeable, and Marlin could understand that many of his flock assumed she was of their race. It was hard to see, her being so old and wrinkly, but he could detect a small difference, a foreignness that he couldn’t explain by telling himself how old and weathered she was. He imagined he could hear it in her accent: the vowels a little too short, the consonants a little too harsh, as if she were biting down on them. Marlin had always reasoned that this unfamiliarity was the cause of the fear she inspired. There was no doubt that even the older members of the flock were in awe of her. In the community she held a unique position. Even when she had been younger, she had been provided for by the other members. When youngsters came to an age when they understood the workings of their society they naturally started asking questions about this old crone who never had to ask for anything, even though she had no living relatives. Her every need was catered for by all members of the flock. Old and young, of great stature and lowly birth, they all did their bit. Inquisitive youngsters were discouraged from asking too many questions about old Molin.
At irregular intervals she came to them. Sometimes only to receive food or clothes, sometimes to specify just what it was she needed. And sometimes she took a young male with her. These were always returned within two days and upon return seemed none the worse for wear but they never divulged what had happened to them in the time they had supposedly spent with Molin. When asked about it, most simply turned away. Some kept their gaze on the speaker and seemed to go dumb.
Of course there had been those who had not gone with her. They had had to leave the flock and were never heard of again. They were never spoken of again. They became outcasts. When Molin called, you answered that call. Marlin remembered his brother’s friend, Moran. He had been one of the very few who had refused to go with Molin when his time had come. As soon as word got round that Moran had resisted the summons the tribe’s ranks had closed against their former friend, brother and son. As far as they were concerned, he had simply ceased to exist. Overnight, Moran’s life had become hell. Driven away by shame, fear and hunger he had left the flock, which meant an almost certain death. This was two winters ago and nothing was heard from him again.
Now it was Marlin’s time.
Those piercing eyes that contradicted her friendly tone of voice, the malicious looking curve of her spine, the stooped shoulders and especially the acrid smell that she gave off and hit him in wafts all frightened him. But all that was nothing compared to the fear he felt when he realised he had no other option than to go with her and be subjected to whatever it was she had in store for him. What was this hag going to do to him in the next two days? Where was she going to take him? Revulsion and fear created a hot, hollow feeling in his stomach when he simply nodded. She turned away from him and started to walk towards the last of the small dwellings, into the direction of her part of the woods. Marlin followed. His legs felt as if they had died, he dragged his feet. He looked at the witch’s back when she spoke: ”you’ll feel better soon”. This time all pretence at friendliness had gone from her voice. The snicker Marlin thought he heard added to the feeling that it was said by way of threat rather than assurance.
It wasn’t long before they reached the clearing in the forest where Molin’s dwelling stood. It looked like any other hut that their people had built since they had moved here long before even Marlin’s grandfather had been born. When he entered through the small door, however, he was struck by that same smell that exuded from Molin herself. Only this was a thousand times stronger. It felt as if he was hit in the face with a clenched fist. She saw him flinch. Once more she snickered. “Don’t sit down. We’re only staying here a minute”. Marlin looked around. The place was filthy. Part of the smell was explained by the worn, dirty clothes that lay strewn on every surface. Partly it must have been caused by the uneaten remains of food on several plates on the rickety table and on which maggots and cockroaches were now feeding. Marlin saw Molin rummaging through some boxes in the darkest part of the room, all the while muttering under her breath. After a few minutes she let out a faint cry of joy and he saw her putting away something under her clothes. “Come!” And with that monosyllabic command she ushered him out the door.
They were walking again. Marlin no longer recognised the woods surrounding them. Molin seemed to pick her way through the trees randomly. It was all he could do to follow her. The thought crossed his mind that if he now stood still, she might not even notice that he was no longer with her. But where would he go? Who could he turn to? The hopelessness of his situation paralysed his mind. His body moved on, of its own accord.
Numb with fear, exhausted from walking, shivering with anticipation Marlin noticed they had stopped. For the first time in hours he looked around him. The forest was quiet. He only heard – and smelled- Molin’s breath. No breeze in the leaves. Worse: no leaves. The branches and twigs of these trees ended not in leaves, but in small stumps that looked leathery. The trees themselves looked gnarled as if they had been in great pain while they were growing. There was no undergrowth, or rather: the trees were the undergrowth. They looked hundreds of years old, but were hardly taller than Marlin himself. In a forest like this it came as no surprise that there were no birds.
“Here!” said Molin. He turned round, avoiding her eyes. But he need not have feared. She was facing away from him, looking at what appeared to be the entrance to a cave. He started moving towards her because he thought that was what was expected of him. When he came to within four feet she hissed: ”stop!” He halted. And looked at the cave. Was something moving inside? Suddenly Molin started to make a high, penetrating sound. Marlin took a step backwards and started to raise his hands to his ears when all of a sudden Molin’s voice fell and the piercing sounds started to make some sort of sense: she was chanting. He realised she was chanting to whatever lived in the cave! Now he knew that something in there was alive. Now he knew that whatever was inside that cave was the reason for his being here. Was he to be sacrificed to the being in the cave? But how could that be? All those who had gone before him had returned. That thought gave him a small measure of courage.
Still chanting, Molin moved towards the cave and sure enough something inside stirred. She motioned to him to follow. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness inside the cave so it took him a while to discern the being that was towering over him. It was about twice his height. Its head resembled that of an insect. To the side of its beak two antennae were slowly moving, swaying. So was the head. It moved to the rhythm of Molin’s chanting. Two pairs of legs - the ones he could see- moved too. Cold triangular eyes with a metal sheen were pointed in Molin's direction. They seemed to be following her movements, but how could he be sure? Eyes like that, without irises, without pupils, how could you tell what they were looking at? The chanting stopped. The silence felt cold. The eyes of the beast turned upon him. The sheen seemed to get darker and take on a purple gleam. Marlin could not help himself: he had to move further into the cave towards the monstrosity. As it moved back, further into its lair, it drew him with it as if on an invisible rope. Powerless he went deeper and deeper into the cave, barely registering the fact that Molin followed at a safe distance. From the corner of his eyes he saw a wooden construction on the floor that looked like an instrument of torture. It looked like a rack. Instinctively he knew that he was supposed to lie down on it. As he had lost all will-power he went to the rack and lay down. He would have to go through with this. It was useless trying to resist, even if he had somehow found the physical strength to do so. Lying on the rack he sensed Molin approaching. “Turn”, she growled. He turned on his stomach. She came even closer and put clamps over his arms and legs. He now lay sprawled and helpless on the wooden bed. Cackling and muttering to herself, Molin moved out of the way. Out of the way of the gargantuan beast. Marlin felt rather than saw it move above him. When he dared open his eyes, he saw legs on either side of him. He felt body heat on his back, buttocks and the back of his legs. Something vile dripped in his neck. The behemoth lowered itself on top of him. A foul smell reached his nose. He felt the monster’s legs pressing in his sides. His head was forced so that he was looking straight down, to the floor. Now he felt the front legs, or was it the antennae, force his head to the front, on his chest, so that his neck was exposed. Something touched his skin there. Something hard and sharp but still organic as if someone was pressing long fingernails into his skin. He felt the skin break, he felt drops of blood –his own blood!- run down his neck. He heard them fall to the ground. Somehow that made it more real. He was being violated in the most horrible way! The giant insect’s proboscis entered his neck. He felt it find its way to the base of his skull. Why was he still conscious? He wanted desperately to lose consciousness. He wanted to be somewhere else, someone else, anything! He heaved; threw up when he felt the fiend shudder. Something was squeezed out of the funnel-like organ and placed under his brain. He felt it take hold. He felt it monitor his brain. He was certain that it was alive. Vaguely he heard Molin laugh her malicious laugh. He felt the stinger leave his body. He felt the beast lift itself from his body. It was over.
He knew that whatever it was that was lodged next to his brain would enslave him but would one day also save him.
