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Sexton Beetle

Nicrophorus vespilloides

Please, Mighty Beech, I hope you will never forget that I, your humble servant, was the first to tell you about the arrival of the young Big Heads in the forest. That scoop makes me very proud to be a burying beetle. My partner and I are, without a doubt, by far the most beautiful carrion beetles around: no other is so big and shiny, or has black wing-covers emblazoned like ours with two striking, jagged, orange stripes. Our antennae sport impressive clubs with which we venture fearlessly into the most dangerous of situations. Our bodies far exceed the measly three centimetres of other burying beetles. But you know all this. You also know that we are industrious; we are discreet; and our fierce and frequent copulations ensure that there is never a break in our capacity to give service. Know that in less than two weeks I and my mate will be welcoming another new brood. And that, of course, is good, because there can never be enough Sexton beetles with our genes living in the forest. In the constant cycle of life and death, who is more important than the undertaker?

Despite the sneers of others, I know how to enjoy the happy coincidences that life continually throws at me. Take, for example, the corpse of a robin that is serving as a nursery for our current young family. I had tracked it down two weeks ago. I immediately signalled my partner. It had not been dead long, and the irresistible odour of a fresh corpse almost made us lose our minds. But discipline ruled, and together we set to work. We make a good team, my partner and I. The soil under the deceased robin was age-old humus, dried by this terrible prolonged drought and easy to dig out, so we quickly managed to lower the body to a safer level underground. We set about tearing the feathers and skin off the corpse and scraping the rotting flesh into little meatballs, protected in a layer of mucus, stacked in a pile. We didn’t realise, at that moment, the extent of our luck. It was only when we rested from the task and took our bearings that we discovered that, quite by chance, we had buried the corpse at the same level as the den of a mouse. And not just any mouse! Upper Mouse, head of an entire clan.

Perhaps you had led us there, Mighty Beech. The powers of old, wise beings such as yourself are mysterious to us. Because that was exactly where I was supposed to be: right next to the enemy. I had already accepted the assignment to become a secret agent in this new battle facing the forest.

Over the next few days, we tunnelled out a small but safe passage across to the mouse’s burrow. We knew from your briefing that this Upper Mouse forms part of the network of old Mad Oak, whose crazy ideas include making a pact with the human race - as if those bipeds hadn’t already brought the planet to its knees with their ignorance! You, Mighty Beech, have rightly declared war on Mad Oak and all her tribe. And so, I’m a real spy now, and proud of it. Although the job is not without its dangers. Spying is not for the faint-hearted. One must get uncomfortably close to the enemy. Wood mice are particularly keen of smell and hearing, are very fond of crunchy insects, and are always hungry. So, as you can imagine, I had to take precautions. Once the passage to Mouse’s burrow was ready, I persuaded the friendly fungi of the Chanterelle family, who are passing on this report to you, to populate the far end of the tunnel with their most fragrant underground extensions, to mask my typical corpse smell.

Five Suns ago my daily spying trip was crowned with success. At first, I was puzzled as I watched Upper Mouse drag in one frond of bracken after another. As far as I know, mice don’t eat bracken. After a while I realised that he was making a bed. I watched as he stockpiled some blackberries while squeaking happily and singing his heart out. After the blackberries, he came up with golden saxifrage, young nettles and a dead earthworm. I wondered why he hadn’t eaten it. He was definitely saving it for something, or somebody. He worked fast, looking neither up or down, left nor right.

The delicately perfumed Chanterelle threads were doing their work. Hidden behind this living curtain, delighted by my cunning, I felt sure I had seen something important, although I was not yet able to interpret it. Other odours began to tickle my senses, however, and I was drawn back to the carcass where my partner was waiting for me. We mated again, and still quivering with the thrill of it, I promptly laid my full charge of little oval eggs in the birthing room we had chewed out of the bird’s belly. Abandoning all thought of the scene in the nearby den, habit ruled and we set about preparing the meatballs for our brood. The new larvae hatched out only a few Suns later, and from then on, we have taken turns chewing maggots and the pickled meat and feeding the juice to our young. Sometimes we’re overcome by pride in our fruitful cooperation and celebrate by clapping the thick clubs of our antennae together. Of course, I kept an eye on the mouse hole in the meantime. I noticed that Upper Mouse was eating and replacing his stockpiled food.

Yesterday, on the night of the full Moon, while chewing one of the last meatballs, I suddenly felt for the first time in my life an unusually powerful energy wave which seemed to be coming from behind Chanterelle’s curtain. Could it be the energy of a human, a Big Head, as you call them? I’ve often heard about Big Heads, but since I live underground most of the time, I’ve never bumped into one. Which is just as well, given the damage they’re said to cause. They are known in the forest for sending out disturbing vibrations with their anxious thoughts. These vibrations are hurtful and different from the softer frequencies we’re used to, that animals, plants and trees emit when they’re dying. In those cases, I and my mate follow these exquisite waves of anguish to the source and wait patiently until the creature breathes its last. That little wait often provides enough food for a few weeks. But this was different; a thousand storms more intense. Leaving the larvae to dig themselves into the ground where they will go through the pupal stage, I walked straight towards the strange undulations through the long corridor that led to Upper Mouse’s den. The waves were irresistible. Blissful. I was sure they meant a good meal.

I peered through the Chanterelle curtain. The den was remarkably crowded. Upper Mouse had four Red Ants in there! What were live Red Ants doing with a living wood mouse? Why weren’t they devoured immediately? The Ants were carrying a leaf with something on it. As Mouse moved aside, I saw the Ants deposit their load on the thick bed of dried Bracken. The load was alive. I recognised arms, legs and long ginger head-hair. I guessed it was a female Big Head, but I was taken aback at its minute dimensions: it was a Big Head even smaller than myself! You, Mighty Beech are right after all: Mad Oak had been planning to integrate Big Heads into the forest community, and although this creature was inexplicably tiny, it must clearly be part of the project.

The small creature was shivering and sobbing. I was completely intoxicated by the vibrations I was receiving. I sat motionless at the spy hole, one of my feelers pointing at Mouse, when for the first time in my life I was introduced to those horrible projections of the Big-Heads. A giant snake appeared in the air in front of me, unfolding like a flower in slow motion, born from the bed of Bracken. The snake hissed, opened its mouth and a red forked tongue shot out. Even as I jumped backwards, it disappeared and was replaced by a rather delicious-looking rotting creature. My instinct pulled me forward, but there was something peculiar about it. I felt it pulling all the life out of me, until all I wanted to do was die. But that monster, too, disappeared and I saw a huge old willow, its branches thrashing and whipping wildly. I retreated a few steps until it sank in: I was not being attacked at all. All those images were figments of imagination, coming out of the little human’s head. And I experience them as lifelike. I can read their minds! That is what Big Head vibrations do to us. They make us travel in other dimensions. With that insight, my fear subsided. A huge black dog ran towards me, but it disappeared immediately. They kept coming, the most gruesome and terrifying creatures, but they no longer overwhelmed me.

I was impressed. The energy waves which produced the images are indeed a powerful weapon. No wonder these vibe-emitters are able to wreak so much havoc. It took me a lot of effort to remain calm while a giant rat with razor-sharp teeth approached, quickly replaced by a hairy spider crawling from the corner where the little human still lay. Then a bat flew at me. The little Big Head was screaming a string of unintelligible words. It meant nothing to me, but it seemed to mean something to Upper Mouse.

‘Alis with an S? Yes, that’s your name, I know. Mother Oak introduced you like that,’ squeaked Upper Mouse hopefully. But the Big Head didn’t seem to understand anything he said. The small female looked around fearfully, moved cautiously, and her dusty overskin, which was colourful and seemed to hang loose in parts, made an unusual rustling sound when she turned on her bed. Her hair was long and thick. Fascinated, I stayed put.

I noticed Upper Mouse leave the den, but he was back inside at once and his glands were breathing stress. Something had made him agitated. I reacted immediately with a new fighting stance behind the curtain of Chanterelle tendrils. Four other Ants were bringing in a second Big Head and from its thoughts, new images bloomed forth. Now not only glowing creatures with horns filled the burrow, but also large, elongated metal objects shooting fire, horses running and people falling dead and getting up again. I also smelled the presence of plastic, the misery of all Sexton beetles. Plastic is unbreakable, hard to chew, and indigestible. More than one burying beetle has already lost several litters to it and even their own lives. Upper Mouse squealed and shrieked. The dark-grey hairs on his back stood upright until the Ants retreated with the little creature.

I decided to call my partner via the underground fungal network of the Chanterelle. I didn’t want him to miss the spectacle. He came running. He stood there petrified for a while as more images streamed from the first Big Head’s mind, and then he lovingly put his feelers against mine.

‘Don’t worry, my dear. Mighty Beech sees everything. The Big Heads have arrived, exactly as he predicted. If he can figure out Mad Oak’s plan with our help, he will be able to put an end to it quickly. However rapturous their waves may be to us burying beetles, these Big Heads bring nothing but poison and destruction to the forest. You must keep calm, and report all.’

So that’s what I’m doing, Mighty Beech. You can count on me!