William Meikle - The Hole

Janet had her hands full, not only with treating wounds, but in trying to calm an increasingly agitated group.

“Can we move them?” Bill asked when she expressed her concerns on one of his return visits.

“What, all of them?”

He nodded.

“I ain’t too happy staying here, what with the possibility of a fresh cave-in at any moment.”

“You think that’s likely?”

“You think it isn’t?”

He had her there. She’d put such thoughts to the back of her mind while treating the wounded, but now that the back of that task was broken, she had time to think… too much time.

“You’ve got a point. I take it you have a plan?” she asked.

“I think we need to evacuate,” Bill said. “At least until we can check that it’ll be safe to return. If I sequester all the school buses, taxis and trucks in the area, we should be able to ferry everybody out at once.”

“Does everybody know?”

Bill nodded.

“I had what men I could spare going round knocking on doors. A lot of them have left already, and the rest know that we’re gathering around here. I just have to round up enough drivers for the buses.”

“I’ll do what I can here to get us ready for moving,” she replied. “Most are mobile enough, and fit to make a journey. As long as it’s not too far.”

Bill whispered, so that only she could hear.

“That’s what I’m worried about. How far do we need to go? I plan to head for the county hospital, as long as we can get out of town without mishap. How’s that for a plan?”

She smiled thinly.

“It’ll do, until something better comes along. A bit like you, really.”

He surprised her by taking her into his arms and hugging her tight.

“Don’t be going anywhere until I get back,” he said, and headed out into the wounded town.

Fred was back on a stool at The Roadside, drunk, but not as drunk as he wanted to be. A steady stream of distraught and bewildered townsfolk arrived in search of something, anything, to block out the sights they had just seen. Others had gone to see what they could do to help out at the church hall, and Fred felt a pang of guilt as he watched them leave… but not enough to shift him from his stool. He knew that if he saw even one blonde, he wouldn’t be able to do much except weep, maybe scream. He tossed some beer down after his latest JD and ordered another of each.

The television was on, turned low, tuned in to a game show. There had been a brief story earlier, but that had only covered the first collapse at Hopman’s Hollow. As yet, news of the disaster around the trailer park hadn’t hit the media, but Fred knew that when it did, a shit storm of epic proportions would rage over the town. He wasn’t sure he wanted any part of it.

I should up and go. Right now. Ain’t got nothing to my name but the clothes I’m wearing and my wallet. But that’s enough to be getting on with.

He stayed in his seat and lit up a fresh smoke. The bar was a safe place, a source of comfort; always had been. It was where he came when his mom died, where he came after the accident that almost put him in jail for a spell. He came here when he wanted to forget, and tonight he had plenty of memories that needed to be hidden.

Luckily nobody wanted to talk to him. The story seekers from earlier had all moved on, and Hopman’s Hollow was now merely a prelude to the bigger tale unfolding. Maybe if they knew that Fred had also been out in the trailer park tonight, maybe then he might be the focus of attention once more.

But I’ve got enough folks killed for one night. The only thing I’m opening my mouth for now is to pour more booze inside.

Amazingly, Charlie was still upright, and still drinking. His head wound was less raw-looking than it had been, and he had much of his color back. He stood from his place in the corner and negotiated the bar like a sailor in rough seas before sitting next to Fred and ordering more JD for them both.

“You’ve done seen something, ain’t you, boy?” Charlie said, slurring his words, but not enough to make him unintelligible. Fred said nothing, just sucked smoke and tried to clear his mind. The whispers from the television seemed to speak straight to him.

Fred is dead.

He jerked up his head and looked at the screen. The game show host smiled inanely back at him.

Try as he might, he couldn’t make any sense of what had happened back in the trailer. It was almost as if the séance had led directly to the formation of the new holes, but he refused to believe that. He also tried to refuse to believe that he had seen the glass float and spin above the Ouija board, but that was taking a bit more effort to eradicate, and was going to need more booze.

A lot more booze.

Charlie wasn’t done with him yet.

“Fess up, boy. Something’s got you spooked, ain’t it?”

Fred sucked smoke and let it out slowly. He knew Charlie wasn’t one to let something drop once he got an idea into his head.

Besides, he might even know something that’ll help me make sense of what happened.

“What were the names of the three men that went missing down the mine?” he asked.

“Why do you want to know?” Charlie said, his confusion writ large on his face.

“Just tell me,” Fred said. He kept his eyes on the television, not trusting himself to look at the older man.

“Fred Miller, George Tomkins and Joseph O’Brien,” Charlie said. “God rest their souls.”

FredJoeGeorge. He told me before. He must have told me before.

“Why do you want to know?” Charlie asked again, but Fred didn’t reply. He threw a shot of JD down his throat, feeling the heat burn to his stomach and a fuzzy haze grow larger in his head.

That’s right. Kill those brain cells. Murder them.

But no matter how much JD he put down, the images kept bubbling back to the surface, the last one in particular, of the blonde, Tricia, falling, screaming into darkness.

The television whispered to him again.

Fred is dead.

He threw his shot glass at the screen, drunkenness affecting his aim enough that the glass hit a timber some two feet to the right of the television and shattered. All noise in the bar cut off, and everyone turned. Fred felt their gaze, like a weight on the back of his head. He didn’t have to turn round to know he’d just become that which he’d tried to avoid. He had their attention.

“That’s enough for you, Fred,” the barman said. “Go home and sleep it off.”

Fred laughed hollowly.

“I ain’t got no home to go to,” he shouted, too loud in the quiet bar. “Damned hole sucked it right up.” He dropped his head to rest it on the table. “Sucked her right up,” he whispered.

The bar patrons, realizing that no more outbursts were forthcoming, went back to their conversations. Fred suddenly ached for company… blonde company. He closed his eyes, but immediately opened them again, his mind full of visions of a fair mop of hair falling, deeper and deeper, screaming into the dark.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to stare into Charlie’s concerned face. The older man looked suddenly sober.

“Tell me, son. Tell me everything.”

That was all it took. Fred started to speak, and the whole story came out in a rush of words and bitter tears.

“They were there, Charlie,” he said near the end. “At least one of them was there. I felt him, saw him move the glass, sure as eggs is eggs.”

Charlie was quiet for long seconds.

“There ain’t no such things as ghosts, lad,” he said. “You know that.”

Fred nodded.

“Before tonight I’d have said the same thing. But I know what I saw, Charlie. And I ain’t about to unsee it.”