The Hole Read online

  Maybe this is an elaborate joke at my expense? Let’s tease the outsider?

  “Well?” Bill Wozniak said. He sat across the table from her, cradling a coffee mug in his huge hands. She couldn’t believe the sheriff would be part of such a joke.

  And besides, creating a huge hole on the highway is taking it a bit far.

  She allowed herself a small smile at that, and Bill picked up on it.

  “Have you found something?”

  Janet shrugged.

  “It’s too badly degraded to tell much of anything,” she said. “I’m afraid there’s no easy explanation.”

  “Devils don’t need no explaining,” Bill said softly.

  “Come on, Bill. Even you know that what we saw wasn’t any such things as devils.”

  “I know no such thing,” Bill replied. “And I’ll tell you something else for nothing…I’m scared, Janet. Scared that there’s going to be more of them before the night is out.”

  She didn’t know how to answer that, and sat quietly. Bill spoke to fill the awkward silence that had developed.

  “The sooner we get that hole filled in again, the happier I’ll be.”

  “We need to investigate it further,” Janet said.

  Bill shook his head.

  “Ain’t gonna happen. I’ve got my orders from the town council. Close it up. Fill it with concrete if I have to. Just get rid of it.”

  Janet remembered the size of the hole as she’d last seen it. It was clearly a job well beyond the scope, and the budget, of the town’s resources. She held her tongue though, as Bill was obviously in no mood for heeding the realities of the situation—not yet. That would come in the morning, when engineers, surveyors, builders and councilmen would all no doubt have their say, and at great length if precedent was anything to go by.

  But for now, Bill was more concerned with the three bodies, or rather, the lack of them.

  “We did see those demons, didn’t we?” he asked. There was a plaintive tone in his voice, a memory of a younger, less confident man.

  Janet nodded.

  “We saw them. But as I told you, they weren’t demons. They looked more like genetic mutations to me; some kind of mole rat, grown huge in a closed niche environment. I’ve heard of such things but…”

  Bill cut off her speculation.

  “Mole rats? That’s not what I saw. Since when were mole rats bright red? Since when did mole rats have sharp horns? Since when…”

  Now it was Janet’s turn to interrupt.

  “We’re talking at cross purposes here, Bill. How about you tell me what you saw, see if I can make sense of this?”

  He sipped at his coffee before answering, staring into the distance as he remembered.

  “The hole weren’t quite so big when I got there. This was just twenty minutes or so after Hopman called the ambulance for old Charlie. I left Deputy Watts with Hopman and did a tour of the damage. That was when I saw them, and I damned near shot myself in the foot getting my pistol out before I noticed they weren’t moving. You say mole rats? I’m in no doubt of what they were. I told you already they were demons, and I ain’t changing my story. The skin was bright red; it even looked kind of burnt. And the horns were stiff and sharp points. And those long fingers…with the talons and all? I’ll never forget them, as long as I live.”

  But it’s not what I saw. There’s something really hinky going on here.

  She thought it, but again held her tongue. The situation was fraught enough without adding another layer of confusion at this stage. She brewed up more coffee and steered the conversation away from the hole, for the moment. She knew it wouldn’t be long before Bill was back worrying at it; that was his way. Just as it was her way to try to do something to keep him sane.

  They’d grown close in recent months. People thought of them as rather an odd couple—the big bluff cop that knew everybody and the small thin doctor that everybody spoke to, but nobody knew. That was the way Janet liked it, or at least it had been until she met Bill. They’d clicked almost immediately, back more than a year ago, but Bill was still hurting then from the death of his wife. Janet was only now seeing signs that Bill might be getting over that, might be ready, if not to move on, to at least enjoy himself a little. Over coffee they made tentative plans to spend time together over the weekend.

  “It’s going to depend,” Bill said. “If that hole keeps getting bigger, we might not be left with anywhere to go. It could turn out to be something the national media will take an interest in, and if that’s the case, I ain’t going to be getting any free time for a while. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”

  After Bill left, she went back to studying the slide under the lens. She still couldn’t make any sense of it. She refused to countenance Bill’s talk of demons, but after examining the slide it was also clear that whatever she had seen, it certainly wasn’t anything that fit into her conception of what made up a mammal.

  Bill wasn’t the only one with a bad feeling.

  * * *

  It was still worrying at her when she left the surgery later to make her way home. She didn’t have far to go, and normally she enjoyed the slow stroll through the sleepy streets of the town. But now the place felt different; she couldn’t put her finger on it, but it seemed as if the place had been given a dose of hurry-up. Everything seemed to be happening faster, people walked and talked with more purpose. The town had undergone a change, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it.

  Her own street was a case in point. On a normal evening she’d be one of the few out and about at this hour; most folks would just be sitting down to an evening meal, or crashing in front of the television. Tonight though, there was activity everywhere she looked. Clumps of people stood on corners or on porches, while others had even gone as far as starting to pack their pickups in preparation for making a getaway should it be needed. Children called and giggled excitedly and it felt more like the night before a carnival than anything else.

  Switching on the television news didn’t help matters. Bill had been right. The media were taking an interest. A too-tanned man of indeterminate age stood with his back to the hole in Hopman’s Hollow. He appeared almost gleeful at the prospect of more devastation.

  “The sinkhole is estimated to be growing at two feet an hour,” he said. “And it is by no means clear how much farther it will extend. It has already swallowed the home of local landowner and industrialist John Hopman, who tonight can only stand and observe as everything he has ever worked for falls away into the depths of the maw.”

  At least they’re not talking about devils.

  She listened for a while as she prepared a meal, but it was obvious that the reporters knew even less than Bill Wozniak did about the situation, and they were just filling up the airtime with idle speculation; everything from fault lines and mine subsidence, to earthquake and fracking damage. It did seem to be quite the story though, as, behind the reporter she was watching, she saw several other news crews, at least one of them nationals. Bill had been right to worry.

  This is going to get worse before it gets better.

  She didn’t eat so much as shovel in fuel, and was surprised to look down and see the plate nearly empty. She stood over the garbage bin to dispose of the meager leftovers. And that’s when she heard it again, a distant hum, like machinery running just at the reach of her hearing. She put a hand on the doorjamb, and felt a slight vibration thrum through the wood. Something seemed to slip inside her head, and she felt then tasted hot blood on her upper lip. A vise gripped her skull and started to tighten; a drummer taking up residence to pound out a beat that drowned everything else out. She staggered to the bathroom, smearing blood on door handles, sink and medicine cabinet before finding the painkillers. She took three, washed them down with water from the tap, then sat on the side of the bath, hand towel pressed to her nose, waiting for the drummer to tire, or her head to explode.

  Either will be a relief.

  * * *

  H
er doorbell rang just as the pain started to subside. Thankfully the nosebleed hadn’t lasted long, and the mess it left behind was mainly confined to a blot on the hand towel and the bloody handprints she’d left in her path from the kitchen. She wiped the mess clean as she headed for the door and felt almost human again as she opened it.

  Bill Wozniak stood outside on the sidewalk, a rueful grin on his face. He looked as tired as she felt, but she managed a small smile when she saw the tequila bottle in his hand.

  “A nightcap for my lady?” he asked, and waved the bottle.

  “Just the one,” she replied. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Don’t I know it,” he said. “And yes, it will just be the one. Then I’m heading back out to Hopman’s Hollow. I left young Watts on patrol duty, and I can’t let him stay there all night. He was getting twitchy the last time I called.”

  Over a glass of tequila—a large one for her, a smaller one for him, Bill brought her up to speed on the situation at Hopman’s Hollow.

  “It’s getting bigger,” he said. That was all he had to say.

  “How fast?” she asked.

  “A couple of feet an hour. That don’t sound too bad, but at fifty feet a day it ain’t gonna be too long before it starts eating into some expensive real estate. That’s when the squealing is really going to start.”

  A thought struck Janet.

  “The hum…it’s happening when the hole grows, isn’t it?”

  Bill smiled.

  “I like a lady with plenty of smarts. Yep, I spotted that earlier. I was out there when the last hum started. It got rid of the news crews quick enough…first signs of nosebleeds and they were all off to the hospital squawking about chemical weapons.”

  “How about you? You okay?”

  The big man tossed back the tequila, looked at the bottle, and shook his head sadly.

  “Nothing a few more stiffeners wouldn’t cure. But that’ll have to wait. I’ve got to go. It’s going to be a long night.”

  She spoke without thinking. “Want some company?” She wondered whether she’d misread him and spoken out of place, but his face lit up in a grin.

  “That’ll set a few tongues wagging in town. Ellen Simmons will surely be at your door first thing in the morning with a detailed report of proceedings. Are you ready for that?”

  She grinned back. “As long as there’s tequila, I’m ready for just about anything.” She immediately felt heat rise on her cheeks and she started to stammer. “That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean…you shouldn’t…oh, shit.”

  Bill laughed loudly. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t tell anybody. Your loose morals can remain a secret between the two of us.”

  He was still laughing as they went out to the parking bay where he’d parked the patrol car.

  7

  It had turned into one of those nights. Fred lost count of how many beers he’d necked and Charlie was already slumped in the corner of the bar nursing a JD and adamantly refusing to admit to being falling-over drunk.

  At one point the hum started up again.

  A girl in the corner screamed, two drunk teens passed out at their table, and some of the patrons had to leave, clutching fresh nosebleeds, but Fred was unaffected, whether by nature of previous exposure or just from being too goddamned drunk to care.

  Charlie wiped fresh blood from his nose and threw Fred a mock salute.

  “Here’s to the end of the world,” the older man shouted, and Fred grinned back at him, knocking back a JD and banging his glass on the bar for another. Things were starting to smooth over nicely. He had a buzz on that was only going to get stronger as the night went on; he’d already spent a wad of his eating money, but he was now past caring.

  He got a second wind when a blonde arrived with free beer and questions.

  “You’re him, aren’t you? You’re the guy who saved the guy who fell down the hole on the guy’s lawn?”

  It took Fred several seconds to come to terms with the question, during which the blonde moved in on him, hustling her way onto the adjoining bar stool and leaning in close; close enough for Fred to feel the touch of her long hair on his arm. He started to pay closer attention.

  “I was right, wasn’t I? You’re him?”

  “I’m him.”

  “So what happened?” she said, and passed him a beer.

  A blonde and a beer; I can die happy.

  He took the beer, and answered as well as his befuddled mind would allow.

  “Weren’t nothing really,” he started, and was immediately interrupted as she took his cigarette from him, sucked a long drag from it, and passed it back, placing it gently between his lips. It tasted sweeter somehow, and musky. Suddenly the booze didn’t seem quite so important.

  “I hear you’re a hero?” she said, leaning closer still to whisper in his ear. He felt the heat of her breath on his cheek.

  “Maybe I am at that,” he replied, and gave her his best smile, to which she responded in kind. She bought him another beer while he told the story. He stuck to the truth, mostly, mainly because her deep blue eyes mesmerized him. Just looking into them made thinking a bit harder for him.

  At some point he found himself retelling Charlie’s story from earlier. When he got to the part about the three missing men, the blonde, call-me-Tricia, started to get excited.

  “Oh…my…God. We should totally do a séance.”

  If it meant spending more time with a body to die for, and those blue eyes, Fred was all for it. She went on for quite a while, about the other side and messages from the great beyond, but all Fred remembered was how her breasts swelled against the thin fabric of her top.

  * * *

  The half an hour after that proved more than a bit fuzzy as he zoned in and out of a drunken stupor. He came back to reality grudgingly, sitting in an armchair in a trailer that was far too tidy to be his. A couple he didn’t recognize sat in a sofa opposite him. The man, a portly guy in his thirties with a badly trimmed goatee, leaned over and handed Fred a beer.

  “So, these three dead men, they’re still hanging around?” the man said.

  “Do I know you?” Fred asked.

  The man laughed.

  “Tricia invited me over for the séance. Tell me it’s true…these dead men from the mine, and the hole and…”

  Fred felt as if he’d been cut loose from reality. He had no memory of leaving the bar, no idea what he was doing in this stranger’s trailer. To cover his confusion he lit a cigarette, getting it going at only the second attempt. He was saved having to answer by a voice from the adjoining kitchen area.

  “That’s what Fred said,” the blonde called back. She came through into the main living area. “Found it.”

  It proved to be a bashed-up Ouija board in a tattered box. The Mysterious Mystifying Oracle it said on the front. It looked innocuous enough, but a chill crept into Fred’s spine, and suddenly he was thinking again—of lost men, and pale things slithering in dark pits. He chugged down half the beer, spilling some on his shirt, a small price to pay for managing to dispel the dark thoughts, at least for the moment.

  Tricia laid the board on the coffee table in the center of the room, then sat down at Fred’s feet. When he felt the warmth of her back on his legs, he started to think maybe he should stop drinking and pay attention again for a while.

  She unfolded the board. It had obviously seen a lot of use. The lettering was scratched and faded in places, and somebody had scrawled all over it in red ink at some time in the past. But just looking at it gave Fred a funny feeling in his stomach that couldn’t be put down to the booze.

  “I don’t know about this…” he started, but stopped when the blonde put a warm hand on his knee.

  “Just tell them, Fred,” Tricia said. “Tell them the story. Just the way you told me. Please?”

  In truth he struggled to remember if he’d put any embellishment into the tale on its earlier telling, but it didn’t seem to matter. The others lapped it up as if he
were relaying the Ten Commandments.

  “As Charlie tells it, they’re still down there, somewhere. The bodies were never found,” he said, pushing down another chill that threatened to have him shivering.

  “We should totally try to contact them,” the blonde said.

  “Maybe they can tell us what’s causing the hole in the hollow?” the man on the sofa said.

  Shit, I might be drunk, but at least I’m not stupid.

  Fred started to move, intending to get up and leave, but Tricia pressed her back more firmly against his legs and squirmed. Fred sat back in the chair and chugged some beer.

  Let them have some fun. Nothing will come of it, and maybe I can get her alone for a time later.

  “You’ve done this before then?” Fred asked. Tricia turned to look at him and he felt her breasts jiggle against his knee, distracting him so much he nearly dropped his beer.

  “Not since I was a kid,” she said. “But it works more often than not.”

  “What do you mean, works?”

  “We can talk to the spirits. Get messages from those who have passed on.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She smiled to let him see that she wasn’t offended.

  “No, really. It answers questions. There’s a theory that it all comes from our own subconscious and we move the glass by micromovements in our fingers controlled by our unconscious minds but…”

  She stopped. Fred had zoned out again, losing interest halfway through her sentence, and she’d obviously noticed. Once again, it didn’t seem to affect her good humor. She smiled at him again, then turned back towards the table.