The Hole

9

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.”

Charlie handed him another JD and sucked smoke before answering.

“I saw plenty of things back in ‘Nam I ain’t never gonna forget,” he said. “Saw plenty of men, good and bad, die horrible, messy deaths. And not one of them ever came back. Packets of blood and shit; that’s all we are, son. Ain’t no sense in thinking otherwise.”

Fred didn’t reply. The events of the night were starting to fade as the booze finally took hold, but he couldn’t allow himself to give in to its seduction, not tonight.

Not when I ain’t got nowhere to go when the bar closes.

Bill Wozniak arrived some time later. He walked straight over to Fred and Charlie. Fred winced and kept his head down. The sheriff had been the one that took the call the night of Fred’s accident. The big man had cut Fred a break that night and helped out with some creative writing of the official report. That was enough to keep him out of jail, but Fred still felt uncomfortable around the officer, fearing that the favor might be called in at any moment.

“You sober, Charlie?” the sheriff said. “I need a bus driver and we’re coming up short.”

“Sure thing,” Charlie said, tried to stand and staggered into Fred. The sheriff raised an eyebrow. Charlie straightened up.

“I stood up a mite too fast there, Sheriff. But I’ll be fine.”

The older man threw a mock salute, and staggered slightly again.

The sheriff sighed, but handed Charlie a bundle of heavy keys.

“These are Joe’s for his school bus,” he said. “We ain’t found Joe.”

He didn’t say any more, but Fred saw it in his eyes. Joe was another one who he wouldn’t be seeing again anytime soon.

Charlie took the keys, dropped them, and almost fell on his face trying to pick them up.

“I got no right letting you near a vehicle in that state,” the sheriff said. “But this is an emergency. Get some coffee in you, fast. We’re moving out and taking the wounded and the kids first. Bring her to the church hall in twenty. And Fred?”

Fred looked up.

“I’m trusting you to make sure he gets that bus down to where it’s needed. Okay?”

Fred nodded, although the last thing he felt like doing was heading out into the dark.

Looks like that favor has just been called in.

Main Street was as busy as he’d ever seen it. Several of the stores were open for business, and people with laden trolleys filled cars and pickups. It looked like folks were preparing for the apocalypse.

And maybe that ain’t too far from the truth of the matter.

Even with all the commotion in and around the stores, it was hard to imagine the scale of the tragedy that had unfolded, and might still be ongoing, over at the trailer park. But all Fred had to do was look in the faces of the folks on the street to see that this was a situation that looked to get a lot worse before it got better.

Charlie slugged down coffee from a travelling mug and passed it to Fred. Tony had made it as strong as he could get it, and Fred felt his heart rate go up a notch as it hit his system. The fresh air threatened to go to his head, but he remembered the look he’d got from Big Bill.

I’m trusting you.

Tonight wasn’t the night to be testing the limits of the sheriff’s faith in him. He took Charlie by the arm and started to frog-march him up the road. They left Main Street and headed up the hill towards the spot where Joe normally parked his bus. Several families in the street were in the process of packing belongings into pickups, but not as many as Fred might have expected. Many of the houses were quiet and dark, either because the inhabitants had already moved on or, as Fred believed, they had stuck their heads in the sand and were refusing to see what was happening on the other side of town. It was something he’d got used to over the years of living here. A lot of folks in this area could give ostriches lessons in sticking their heads in the sand. Fred didn’t get over this way much; too heady for his liking, with manicured lawns, trimmed hedges and perfectly painted porches. It made his trailer look like what it had been—little more than a shed with a bed—and it reminded him how far down he’d fallen in the few short years since leaving a home remarkably like the ones he now walked past with eyes averted.

Thinking of the trailer threatened to revive images from earlier in the evening. He pushed them down and concentrated on getting Charlie where he needed to go.

“Not far now,” Charlie said, as if trying to convince them to keep going. The older man staggered again, and Fred had to take his weight to stop him from falling. Fred wasn’t sure either of them was in any way capable of driving a bus.

At least there’s not much traffic to contend with.

As if in reply to his thoughts, the radio in a parked truck at the curbside crackled into life.

“Fred is. Fred is dead.”

Charlie looked confused.

“Did you hear that?”

Fred didn’t reply. Nothing he could say would help. Instead he walked faster, half dragging Charlie up the road. As they walked away from the pickup the radio got louder to compensate, the repeated phrase following them all the length of the hill.

“Fred is. Fred is dead.”