Mother Mole

Who sees you from the darkness?

Illustration from The Wind in the Willows

We hear them coming, we do, we do, we do. Our claws outstretched to feel the walls around, we pat pat pat our way closer to them. We need to dig with our claws to fit through the gap, because they’re deeper today, and if we want to hear them we dig dig dig. Our nails are very strong, and the stones and old dead roots and ground go to the side, to the side. We crush them small, but only when we feel feel feel that there’s no worms or buggies. We protect the worms and buggies in the soil, because they make the dirt good and airy. And we like to eat the worms, but not now now now.

The men talk talk talk between them but we can’t understand what they say. We move closer, our snouts sniffing the rich air. We squirm, running over each other, running to the front to hear better. We hope hope hope we didn’t miss the beginning of the song. We love the song. We do do do.

His voice rings above the others. He has started started started. The ones of us at the bottom squeak for the ones at the top to rush and get closer and we dig dig dig a little faster. We hear the song but not the words words words. Usually we find a good spot quicker. Some of us squeak the words we know by heart heart heart so we don’t lose the trail of song. Our voices are not nice, and we don’t like to sing, but we can sing just this one time time time.

Under the earth, under gravel and sand

Our picks chip at stone, into stone they pound

We may find some coal, if we are in luck

Empty, empty mine, you don’t have our back.

When we have a good spot, he is singing the second part part part, but we love it nonetheless. We slither and curl and disperse and come back together. We’re trying to get comfy comfy comfy. His voice rings through the ground and it’s nice and soft soft soft like wormy dirt.

Under the earth, under our dark sky

We eat our bread, with more soot than rye

We eat our boiled eggs, gritty and black

Empty, empty mine, you don’t have our back.

We hum and sway sway sway with his voice. The words in the song are so strange to us and we wonder what they mean mean mean: what is a bread? What is an egg? We imagine they wiggle and jiggle jiggle jiggle like a worm. We hope the men like to eat the bread and gritty egg, just like we like the worms. Yum yum yum.

Under the rocks, under the grass

We care for each other, cuz no one else does

We are all brothers, from Harry to Jack

Empty, empty mine, you don’t have our back.

Under the covers, when we’re back home

Our bones ache and our bodies groan

We’re tired but proud as we hit the sack

Empty, empty mine, you don’t have our back.

The man sings and the diggers chop chop chop into the walls above. It sounds nice, we like the rhythm. Chop chop chop. Hit hit hit. We wiggle wiggle wiggle because we like it so much.

Under the mountain, there’s no place to play

We earn an honest living, day after day

Wives and children wait for us in the shack

Empty, empty mine, you don’t have our back.

Under a rainstorm, we’re dusty and dry

We’re proud of our work, we hold our head high

But the pillars collapse, the roof has a crack

Empty, empty mine, you don’t have our back.

It’s a shame shame shame we were late today. We never are. But we still like to hear the song, and tomorrow we won’t be late again. The little ones we keep in the middle squeak and sniff the air. They don’t know the words yet yet yet, but will learn them soon. The older of us have heard it for a long time, so we know the words well well well.

Under the rocks, rolling about

We run for our lives, our lamps go out.

We count each other, but the cave’s too black

Empty, empty mine, you don’t have our back.

We were late because we heard a rumble rumble rumble. The belly of the ground was hungry and it rumbled and we rushed to collect worms and buggies to eat later, because when the ground is hungry the worms and buggies go up to the top top top and we don’t like to go out. Outside is too bright and we like it in the dark and damp. It’s cosy cosy cosy.

Under the raindrops, we wait for a sound

We put our ears down on the ground

But nobody hears a peep from Jack.

Empty, empty mine, you don’t have our back.

When the ground rumbles, we like to go deep down, when we don’t feel the shakes as much. But we really like the song. After the song is done, we burrow down down down. And the song is almost finished, so we’re getting ready ready ready.

Under the ground, like he spent his life

Jack’s in a coffin, buried by his wife

For the first time his body is slack

Empty, empty mine, you don’t have our back.

It is finished. Let’s go go go. The little ones are scared and squeak. This is their first rumble. The old ones know what to do, and we get ready to go down down down into our cosy holes.

The men scream. They don’t usually scream. Don’t they know to come down with us, get cosy in the warm ground?

The rumble gets stronger stronger stronger. The men sound like they’re in pain. We squirm and run around. Why are they still there? Are they hungry? Should we bring them some worms worms worms? Do they want to come with us us us?

Large sounds from above, like crash and snap, and then more noises. Crash crash crash. Boom boom boom. We want to leave, it hurts our ears. We want to go down in the cosy cosy cosy dirt.

But the men are still there. We think they can’t leave. Every day they come from above and come down. What if they can’t go up up up again? Are they trapped? We wrestle and squirm and run around, and the rumble gets worse worse worse.

We have to help them, we decide decide decide. They are diggers, like us. But maybe they can’t dig now. We have to help help help.

We slither and curl and crawl crawl crawl. We stick together like we’re only one big big big mole. The little ones stay in the belly, so they’re safe and warm warm warm. The old ones stay in the back. The fastest diggers go in front. Some of us rub soil in the cracks between our bodies so we don’t fall apart. A big mole is stronger against the rumble than us many small small small moles.

We dig dig dig to the top and we break free through the ground. We sniff the men. They smell sour, like fear, but they still whimper with aliveness. Their heads blink with light and we hiss in surprise. The big mole that is all of us crawls out of the hole, and the men scream and move move move to the back. The little ones in the belly squeak to let them know we’re friends, but the men don’t understand. They cry and yell “Help help help”.

All of us are out of the hole. The rumble stopped, but it will start again soon. The old ones that are the feet of the big mole tell us it will rumble again soon soon soon. The men need to get out now now now, or else they will get buried and won’t be able to sing and eat egg again.

The large mole that is us starts to dig again. Quickly quickly quickly. We push the ground to the sides, we’re throwing rocks away from the men. We think they understand now that we help help help.

“This must be the mother of all moles,” we hear a voice between clawfuls of dirt dirt dirt. “Look at the size of it!”

We snicker with laughter, because the big mole is all of us, but the men don’t know. We dig dig dig. The rumble gets closer. We dig dig dig and we break through the ground. Our snout, that is all our snouts, feels the dry air of outside. We think this is enough for the men, men, men.

We turn around and dive back down in our tunnel. The men can leave now, so we can go down and get cosy cosy cosy before the second rumble comes.

“Thank you, Mother Mole,” the voice of the singer says, and we hear the men climb out of the hole. We dive dive dive and disperse. We make it to our cosy holes just in time before the rumble comes.

The men didn’t come again to dig and sing, not after the rumble. They must be scared and we understand, but we are sad. We heard no more song song song. We sang it to ourselves, but our voices aren’t good. We try to keep busy busy busy, but we miss the men and the song. It’s too quiet quiet quiet.

But one day we hear steps, and we know it’s the singer. We dig ourselves up, so we’re just under the surface. This is where we hear the best. We snicker with joy joy joy, and he begins to sing. We hum with his voice and wiggle and jiggle. But at the end of the song, there are new words. These words didn’t exist before, so we sit very still to listen listen listen.

Under the bright sky, I have a wife

Pretty young thing, so full of life

Her daddy was a miner, his name was Jack

Empty, empty mine, you didn’t have his back.

Under the sun, yellow and mild

My wife told me she was with child

She told me to stay: “What if there’s a crack?

Empty, empty mine, she ain’t got your back!”

Under the ground, we got buried in silt

All ten of us nearly got killed

But a dear creature saved us from the wrack

Mother, mother mole, she has our back.

Author’s note:A lot of old miners’ songs focus on the hard work and dangers of the job (for very good reason!). When thinking of miners, my first thought is a drama, a tragic ending. Perhaps it is the same for other people too. But I wanted to put a positive spin on it, and to create a benevolent cryptid that is looking out for people-so many of them have bad intentions!

❀What would your idea of an earth-bound cryptid would be?❀

© 2026 Laura Teodorescu. All rights reserved. No part of this work shall be reproduced or distributed without author’s permission, this includes inputting the work into LLMs to create summaries.

Originally published at https://laurateodorescu1.substack.com.