Prisoner of the Molepeople

Chapter 5 - Grandma

At last we arrived at the palace of Molemania, which, unlike the other buildings, wouldn’t have fit in a mini golf course. It resembled America's White House, complete with picketed, metal fence and a huge front yard (I had no idea how molepeople grew grass in a place where there was no sunlight). But very much unlike the White House, the palace was black. After Bobbert held up his wallet to a sensor, the front gate wheeled open. When we passed through the front doors of the house, we were frisked by guys in black suits and sunglasses. As if the mere concept of this was violating enough, these guys had claws!

The interior of the palace was just as dark, though with the addition of gargoyles and gas-powered torches. As Bobbert led the way through rows of Romanesque pillars, I had the sensation that the gargoyles were watching me. There was something ominous about those empty eye sockets. Are these the undergods?

A chill coming over me, I drew closer to Bobbert, following him down step after step. In fact, as far as I could tell, the palace was nothing but a giant staircase, taking us lower and lower, as if miles beneath the earth wasn’t low enough.

I was only moments away from my singing concert, and I had no idea what I was going to sing. To make things worse, I was performing for a stranger … a queen … of another species … who, judging by her house, was probably dark and evil. I said to Bobbert, “You haven’t told me anything about Grandma.”

“Don't worry, you're going to love her. She's mighty, yet kind, unbendable, yet up with the latest fashions, the fear of our enemies, the protector of our conservative values, striking the offenders of Molemania with her fiery indignation, yet merciful to the smallest guckrat.” Being the royal herald, he must have memorized that speech.

“Guckrat?”

“They’re like sand demons, only smaller and fluffier.”

“I’ll bet.” As far as I could tell, with the exception of molepeople, who were seeming more ordinary every minute, there was nothing fantastic in this so-called fantasy world.

“But you don’t need to worry about those little vermin,” said Bobbert. He stopped and pointed to a gargoyle. “It’s those you need to worry about.”

This gargoyle was especially large. I had to tilt back my head to take in its towering, reptilian body. It was so tall and massive, its shoulder were hunched beneath the ceiling, high above. Its demonic face stared down at us, its dagger-filled mouth gaping, its claws in thrashing position. I was glad it was made of stone.

“There are powers in the underworld beyond anything you've seen before,” said Bobbert. “You want fantasy? Just wait till we take you to the nether regions, where not even molemen have set foot. There, in the abysmal home of the undergods, where the earth’s foundations rest on bottomless inferno, you’ll find horrors to put your nightmares to shame.”

“Did you memorize that speech as well?”

He pointed to a plaque on the wall. “No, I read it.”

We continued our descent. With shadows all around, I tried to image the beauty of the sky, the warmth of the sun, but already these thoughts were like a dream, slipping away from my memory. It was all so dark and cold, I wanted to cry. Thankfully, it hadn't come to that yet.

When I tripped for the third time, Bobbert said, “You can't see very well, can you?”

“How could anyone see down here?”

“I saw a study about it on PBS the other day. Apparently you humans can’t see infrared like we can.” He blew hot air. “Can you see that?”

“No.”

He smiled with pride.

The next thing I knew, we were standing before a large, metal door, where two molemen stood guard. They wore pin-striped suits and hats like 1930’s gangsters. They had no shame in looking me over.