Yet he does not seem to be joking, or simply storytelling an age-old tale. He is genuinely warning
us of a worm attack.
And of course, I chose to not believe in him. I think that man might be traumatized by some
horrific experience before. God bless, Mr. Gundsambu, may you get over your troubles in life as
soon as possible.
And even if there really is a worm lurking out there, I wouldn’t and couldn’t care less. The
treasure is the only thing that matters under the sand.
The cold night chill had settled over the lonely isolated ger that dotted the obliterating
blanket of sand over the desert, and Tim inched close to the paraffin lamp for the faintest trace
of warmth, slurping his hot noodles in silence. Charles huffed a breath of hot air into his hands,
slowly rubbing them together, and caught the flat contours of Mr. Gundsambuu’s profile, the faint
glow of the light gently silhouetting his wind-beaten face. It was then did Charles actually saw
something flash across the face of the Mongolian man. He looked subdued, grave…Afraid? Why is
he afraid? Afraid of what? But the fear, the fear is there, so apparent in his deep-sunken eyes…
And it was then, as if to respond to Charles’ muted wonders, Mr. Gundsambuu’s coughed a
bit, settled the empty bowl on the side, and in the coarse language of Mongolian he started to tell
a tale, an ancient myth that has been told and re-told, to function as a constant reminder passed
throughout generations of Mongolians, the flicker of the lamp dancing in his eyes.
“Two thousand years ago, the Silk Road between China and Europe was widely used by traders
and merchants alike, and the two sides of the Eurasian continent prospered and flourished with
the strong bond brought forth by the Silk Road. All sorts of treasure like spices, minerals, fabric,
herbs were traded between countries. Unsurprisingly, many died on this harsh journey, with
various obstacles and perils to be faced by the merchants. Many people died in the very dunes
within this desert and never returned.”
Tim could only stare at Charles in obvious surprise. What is this historical lecture that nobody
even cares anymore? It’s not even about that Genghis Khan tomb!
“Some say the merchants couldn’t bear the extremities of the climate Gobi brings, others say
there were thieves, burglars, rascals of all sorts, prowling in the desert.
“Those were hardy merchants, travelers, so similar to you two. They wouldn’t have had
wandered into these hellish realms without much prior preparation. Oh no, they wouldn’t. The
Gobi is too infamous for its unstable weather and notorious gangs.
“To say they are killed by robbers is an insult. The true reason, my lads, is that there is a
monster in the sands out there. The Mongolian Death Worm.”
From Czech Explorer Ivan Mackerle, 1990:
“Sausage-like worm over half a metre (20 inches) long, and thick as a man’s arm, resembling
the intestine of cattle. Its tail is short, as [if] it were cut off, but not tapered. It is difficult to tell
its head from its tail because it has no visible eyes, nostrils or mouth. Its color is dark red, like
blood or salami. It moves in odd ways either it rolls around or squirms sideways, sweeping its way
about. It lives in desolate sand dunes and in the hot valleys of the Gobi desert underground. It is
possible to see it only during the hottest months of the year, June and July; later it burrows into
the sand and sleeps. It gets out on the ground mainly after the rain, when the ground is wet. It
is dangerous, because it can kill people and animals instantly at a range of several metres with