Moloch's Coin

Carter saw the pottery jar and knew he had hit the jackpot. Inside this little cave in Israel, he had come to the end of his long journey. He had sought the famed Coin of Moloch for over a decade, making it his number one priority; ahead of his marriage, work obligations, and even his health. Now, with the coin as his intercessory, he would finally realize his dark dream.

Moloch's Coin was the stuff of legend. Its origin dated from the 15^th century--a product of a mad monk named Demetrius Scriven who was said to have dabbled in the black arts and summoned the high ranking demon Moloch in its creation. The coin was special because it promised whoever found it the fulfillment of one wish. All one had to do, it was told, was to make a wish and then flip the coin. This would set off the process and eventually result in the wisher's satisfaction.

Everyone knows that demons aren't omnipotent, but to the extent of their powers, especially one as high ranking as Moloch, one can readily conjure up images of money, fame, and power as demonic rewards.

But alas, owing to the dubious source of blessings, precisely a gift from a demon—one whose very existence cries out for the torment of mankind, and indeed personifies the meaning of the word 'misanthrope', there is always bound to be an accompanying proviso with any so-called blessing, namely, a curse. And this reality is something that eluded the mind of Carter, despite his native archeological brilliance. Hadn't he ever heard of Jacobs' The Monkey's Paw or any of the multitude of genie in a bottle stories that are a part of our culture's heritage?

Nevertheless, Carter ignored all these warning signs and pressed forward as he grasped the jar that contained the fabled coin. Reaching into the jar, Carter immediately found the coin he had sought. Examining it in the strong light of his miner's hat, he could easily see the skillfully etched image of Moloch on one side of it. Unmistakably, there was the ancient demon in the form of a man with his arms raised, but with the head of a bull on its shoulders. Yes, Moloch had been known as one who historically desired child sacrifices to appease him, so why couldn't Carter understand that he, too, would be required to offer some sort of sacrifice if he chose to employ the services of this demi-god?

Turning the coin over in his hand, Carter gazed at the grotesque picture of a large bonfire populated with the corpses of naked infants as fuel for the fire. Above the fire, the word 'Homage' (translated, of course, in the mind of Carter from the Sumerian language) approved of the depicted atrocity. This was a scene common among Moloch's worshipers throughout history, and he rightly had gained even more notoriety from this, his trademark, than is owed a more run of the mill demon.

What, exactly, did Carter want to wish for? There was to be no period of consideration or even of second guessing. The issue for Carter was settled once and for all time, to wit, REVENGE. You see, Carter was an intelligent, but not a brave man. He had strong emotions of hatred and ire, but did not possess the fortitude to enact them. Carter, for instance, could hardly bring himself to return a shirt to the customer courtesy desk at Wal-Mart that he had discovered had a rather large hole on the back of the right arm. He feared looking in the eye of the employee and risk a denial of cash back or store credit. The truth is that Carter despised all types of confrontation. But in this case, he was willing to utilize the assistance of a beast that would surely see things his way and do what must be done.

The entire crux of the matter went back to 1978. Carter had been a mere 22 years old then, finishing off his third year of an undergraduate degree. Working in the local Quik Mart on a night shift to help pay for his schooling, Carter had known right away that the man who walked in was trouble. Standing at about 6 foot 3, the man wore army fatigues, had tattoos all over his arms and neck, but worst of all was the expression on his face. He had the look of someone who considered the entire human race to be one big nuisance.

“Gimmie all the money in your drawer, fucker!” he barked.

Then as if his appearance had not been intimidating enough, he removed a large knife from his jacket. The florescent lights gleamed off the blade in a display of terrifying brilliance. Carter offered all the resistance he could muster in the form of soiling his underwear. He started to sputter incoherently, and Tattoo Face interpreted this as a riposte. This was not going to be Carter's night.

The assailant jumped over the counter and sent Carter sprawling on the floor. With his knife, he tore up through Carter's shirt and exposed the pale chest. It was just then when Tattoo Face noticed he was kneeling on wetness. It didn't take him long to realize that Carter had urinated.

“You don't deserve to live. Can't even stop from pissin' yourself,”

Tattoo Face pronounced.

He brandished the knife and carved a pentagram in Carter's chest. Blood flowed in buckets onto the floor and the pain was so exquisite that Carter passed out into sweet oblivion. In spite of the night Carter was having, luck was on his side. He was not to die. Tattoo Face finished his visit by removing the 200 plus dollars from the cash register and merely scoffed as he viewed his young unconscious victim on the floor on the way out.

Ever since that night, Carter had dreamed of somehow getting back at that trash for what he had done to him. Every time he took a shower and saw himself in the mirror, he was reminded of his humiliation. The pentagram was the mark left behind to show that he was only a wimpy creature in the larger universe. His stature reflected his worth and he hated his attacker for this.

Flash forward to the present. Carter gripped the coin and made his wish. “Great and powerful Moloch, make that fucker pay! I want him to feel the humiliation I felt, plus a whole lot more!” In his mind's eye, Carter could picture Tattoo Face kneeling with a petrified look on his face, in total submission. Moloch would make this all right. It would be worth whatever the cost.

Carter tossed the coin in the air. It sparkled for a second and then disappeared as though becoming nothing. Carter hoped to God; no, make that Moloch, that the wish would find fruition.

He left the cave with a bitter grin on his face.

One week later, Carter was stepping out of the shower. As he once again caught sight of the mark on his chest that had helped to define his latter life, he was alarmed to see the door knob turn. No one should have been in his apartment. It was months since his wife had kicked him out for the obsessive behavior he had displayed, resulting in his complete marital negligence. The door banged open and there, to Carter's astonishment, stood Tattoo Face.

“How can this be?” screamed Carter “You haven't changed in thirty years!”

It's true. The brute appeared exactly the same to Carter as he had on that fateful night. The only difference was in the implement he held in his hand. Instead of a large knife, Tattoo Face gripped a machete. It promised to do more effective work, and more quickly.

“I knew you would seek revenge when you found my coin. This plan was laid before you were born. Come now and receive the consequences of your wish. I am Moloch.”

END