A man was in his backyard digging a hole. As the mound of dirt beside him rose, he suddenly heard a small voice call out from it.
“Excuse me sir, but I'm afraid you've done me a disservice."
He looked over to the mound and saw an earthworm squirming around on its surface.
The man was surely mistaken, of course. Perhaps the toil of his labor and the sun above was taking its toll on him.
A mere worm couldn’t talk. He knew that he shouldn’t let himself be distracted. He had a hole to dig, after all.
He began to dig again, only to hear the voice of the worm once more.
“Excuse me again, sir. I’d have your attention, if I may.”
The man stopped again and turned once more to the worm.
Sticking his shovel into the soil, he left his deepening hole and crouched down next to the mound of cast aside dirt and leaned in towards the wiggling creature.
“Oh, lovely.” said the worm, “I worried that perhaps you couldn’t hear me.
Your kind aren’t particularly good listeners, I’m afraid. Please take no offense, of course.
It’s not often our two peoples interact like this, anyway.”
The man was astounded, a talking worm! It was almost too fantastical to be real, and scarcely to be believed as well.
He had so many questions, but the worm continued.
“I must be direct with you, sir. You’ve removed me from the earth and that is a problem.
My kind aren’t made for the harsh world of the surface like yourself. I am a humble worm, and beg for your mercy.”
The man felt a great compassion for the worm, of course, but he knew that if he returned it to the hole he would be unable to dig.
That could not be permitted. He had to dig. So the man went and fetched a bucket.
He filled it with dirt and a splash of water for moisture before gently scooping up the worm and placing it in its temporary spot.
“Such kindness,” said the worm, “I never would have expected this from one like you.
I had feared that you had come to take me, as many of your kind have done to mine. I am thankful.”
The man placed the worm’s bucket nearby and returned to his digging. Little by little his hole became deeper and deeper.
The worm idly wriggled through the moist dirt before speaking once more to him.
“Tell me sir, why do you dig? Are you on a pilgrimage as well?”
The man turned again to the worm, asking what it meant.
“I was on a pilgrimage to view the surface, you see. It is something all worms do from time to time.
To remind us of the rich splendor of the soil after seeing the desolation above.”
The man was confused. The surface wasn’t desolate.
Parts of the world perhaps, but that was just nature. He questioned the worm as to its meaning.
“The surface is the abode of the Beast, sir.” the worm started, “It’s covered in your kind, parasites that feed off the rich bounty of the earth.
The Beast’s brood twist and warp the very ground as they please. I’ve heard tales of ground becoming toxic from the actions of these creatures.
I assumed you were digging your way to the safety of the soil.”
The man paused. He thought that the worm had a point, in some ways. None that were his fault directly, of course, but he still had to think.
Why WAS he digging? He admitted he wasn’t sure. He just felt the need, the call to dig.
“Perhaps,” the worm said after a moment, “it is God calling you.”
The man stared at the worm in silence.
“Is this news to you, sir?” the worm asked, “God is a worm, sir. Life springs from the depths. From the dirt, and farther down still.
From beneath the oceans even. It is we, His children who enrich the ground that the parasites live upon. We are the ground, sir.
The very foundation of all that is. It calls to you, of this I am certain.”
The man felt a great tremble move up from the ground and through his body. He seized his shovel and began digging anew.
With great vigor and zeal he dug deeper and deeper till the night came and went into a new morning.
However, this could not last as a scraping snap pierced the air. The man wailed as he looked at his broken shovel, having met its end to an errant rock.
The man looked up, he could no longer escape the hole. He thought to call for help, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Seeing this, the worm spoke once more.
“You no longer need the surface. The time has come. Release me, and I shall lead you.”
The man gently overturned the worm's bucket and watched as it squirmed its way down into the ground.
He waited a moment before reaching out and began to dig with his own hands. He would dig and live in the ground as they do.
He clawed at the ground slowly crawling into a newer, smaller hole. And as he went, he would shovel the occasional handful of dirt into his mouth.
It would bring the sustenance he needed. Before long, he was gone.
He was never found.