The Voice of Molech

Another short story; this one I came up with on the drive back from Spring Break.

The Voice of Molech

Molech speaks.

I hunger, king. I thirst for blood—the blood of your enemies.

I have no enemies. My kingdom is eternal, guided by the Sun and promised to me even after I die.

Mighty Pharaoh, my servant, you have many enemies. And they are mine as well. The sound of sheep cries from your own lands—lands you said would never be defiled by those vile creatures.

The Hebrews are harmless.

You hate them, though. You hate the sheep, as I do. You hate their god, as I do. And their strength is not in horse or in tomb—but in numbers. In children. Too many children. They will never stop. They will grow until they are beyond numbering—for so their god has promised. Stop them. Feed the beasts of the Nile with their children. Feed their children to me. Sate my thirst for children’s blood.

 

Molech roars.

My servant, my king, my slave. He is here—the enemy. The King who would take your throne and mine. Time is short—He will take it soon.

This cannot happen! The usurper must die.

Still  your tongue. You know He is no usurper. He comes for His lands—lands I, we, have held for eons. We must stop Him.

But how?

Kill Him, and those He loves. Bring me more sacrifice. Bring the children to my arms, that I may quench this eternal lust that torments me. The Ewe will wail—let her. Let the world know that the Lamb is dead and the sheep wander lost. Bring me lambs, not just one as the Jews do but many. As many as can come to my salivating mouth.

 

Molech whispers.

My child, my little girl. What has happened is not fair. You should not have to bear this burden, this monstrosity inside you. I will take it. Give it to me. I am always willing to take more, though I have taken countless in the past. Give it to me.

No. You will not take this one.

Stay out of this, shepherd. This one is not your sheep. Your sheep are pure, holy. Such a one as this would never sit in your flock. Even your flock condemns her. She has made her choice, they say. Let her live with the consequences.

Though I am but a hireling, the Great Shepherd is with me. He has died for this one—whatever she has done.

Don’t listen, child. It is too late. You have satisfied your lusts, your unclean desires. Now let me satisfy mine. Give it to me. You do not deserve this one. It is mine.

This lamb belongs to the Shepherd. He will help her raise it.

It is too much work, too much trouble. This parasite has invaded your body. You have never chosen this. You never asked for this thing. Allow me to do what I do best. Thousands I have helped with the ever growing problem of children. You don’t want him. I do. I want him like nothing else. This is my lifeblood. Without it I starve. I will not starve.

You will tonight, Molech. You will not take him. Your arms will be empty—your stomach unsatisfied. You have taken too many precious gifts already. Tonight your hunger goes unsatisfied.