Lighthouse Horror Podcast - My Neighbor Dug A Hole In His Yard. It Leads To ANOTHER WORLD | Scary Stories

Episode Date: December 20, 2023

I looked out my window and saw him digging. He looked like he was searching for something...        Story from Lucas Whorley Make sure to check out more of their work at u/Edwardthecrazyman ��                       Original YouTube link: My Neighbor Dug A Hole In His Yard. It Leads To ANOTHER WORLD           For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

I lived across the street from Harold for more than a decade. It's amazing what you see about people when you catch swaths of their life in passing. It was never that I intended to watch him or anything like that. This was merely a matter of living near him. I was there when they had the movers, when they renovated their house, and when they became just Harold. It was a dark morning with thick moisture in the air that served to let everyone know of the approaching storm.

I was fighting off a cold of epic proportions, chewing lemon cough drops like candies and drinking cup after cup of peppermint tea. The mixture of these flavors tasted awful, but at least I could taste something. It wasn't very often that I'd call out of work like that, so I guess it was purely dumb luck that made it so I saw him across the street. Even being sick, I tried downing a few slices of toast just so I'd have something on my stomach. This made it so I ended up reading Reddit on my phone while nibbling on the edge of a piece of burnt toast. There was Harold, rushing across his lawn with his robe hanging

open to expose his white briefs, dead-eyed with scruff grown across his throat. He bent down to lift the newspaper at the end of his driveway and shook it from the plastic bag that had collected the morning's moisture. After thumbing through it, some fit overtook him, and began ripping the paper till it all fluttered away on the wind, catching along sidewalk crags or bush branches like flag signaling his surrender. I felt for the man. Honestly, I'd seen the whole thing when Patricia stomped across the lawn over there and peeled out of the driveway.

We all liked her. Most people that brought Swedes to welcome people to the neighborhood could be overbearing with their niceties, but she had a way with it that made everyone comfort. I can only imagine the misery Harold was living with. Rumor said that it was an ongoing thing, as it tends to be, a culmination of symptoms, till they had to be exercised from each other. People tried getting Harold to come out to functions, but he said no to a lot after she left.

Poor fellow was taking it exceptionally hard. I watched him as he moved back to his front door and slammed it shut behind him. For the time I'd given up on the toast, Harold poked his head back out the door and peered around to make sure that no one was watching him. The coast was clear, or so he thought, because I could see him well enough. He went chasing after the strands of paper he'd left behind, this time taking precautions to tie his rope shut. I remember thinking then, how weird a grief that must be to lose someone like that, makes

you do weird shit. For me, I've enjoyed my own company too much to muddy the waters with anything beyond platonic. Once he'd collected most of them, he trod out of sight once more, giving me enough time to look at a few more wholesome memes and finish my cup of tea. Finally, at some point that I'd not even seen because I'd become so engrossed in my scrolling, Harold was in his yard between the two maples, angled against a spade with effort. Even from a distance, I could see that the morning sprinkle was making quick work of his bed hair, so it conformed to the shape of his skull.

My brain took minutes to realize what he was doing, but as the pile of wet earth beside him grew, it registered. But why? What the hell was he thinking? Was he planning something? I watched him like that, for at least an hour, sipping through two cups of tea. He was in the hole, halfway up his shins and caked in mud. As I polished off the last cup, I moved to grab my umbrella and stepped outside.

Harold didn't even look up at me, as I stood in front of him. He was a man possessed. Grones escaped him each time he drove the spade into the ground, but as his loafer-covered foot came down on the foothold and his arms pried to Jimmy the dirt loose so he could toss it to his side. He let out a satisfied grunt. Standing there on the sidewalk, just on the other side of his hedge with the rain coming down light, I looked on. Whether or not he noticed me, he didn't make it known.

Hey there, buddy, what are you doing there? How are you, neighborino? He asked me, without even looking up from his work. It came from him like a jaunty self-aware joke. Uh, another shovelful met the pile. Do you need me to call someone? He laughed and continued shoveling. For a minute, it seemed like he wasn't going to respond to my question.

Clay. I jumped at the sound of my own name coming from his mouth. You're a nice guy. He spat and wiped his forehead, leaning against the handle of the spade. At least he'd stopped digging, if nothing else. His eyes were lucid like he'd never before been alive, and it was only now that it found him. Or maybe he was just crazy. I used to make these little ships.

You've seen them before, right? Whenever Patty threw her parties, I'd show him off. I'm sure I've shown you before, haven't I? Well, they were in the bottles. He put out his hands to demonstrate the size of the bottles. I nodded. You see, making these little ships is real pain. For me, the hardest part was always raising the mast.

I hated building those things, but that's what I was supposed to do, right? Does that make sense? He gestured to the house behind him. I've got real shaky hands, so putting those tiny pieces in just the right places always drove me straight up the wall, you understand. It was rough, but whenever I'd finish one, I'd carefully take it to wherever Patty was in the house and I'd show it to her. She loved those damn things.

They're cute. She'd say or some variant thereof. It's cliche, but it was happiness too, and that's what I always wanted. This. Again another manic gesture to the house. This was the American dream they tell you about. Before your balls drop, kiddo, do this, get this degree, buy this house, marry this lady because she makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Then poof, one day, it's all gone, and you know what you have to do then.

I shook my head. The early autumn air was giving me chills, or maybe Harold was. You got to smash those bottles. You have to, you know, because it makes you feel something. You throw them across the room and watch them explode. So many hours. He shook his head and laughed. I'll tell you, man, those things were a lot more fun that way.

Felt good and bad at the same time. Cathartic, I said. I guess, man, whatever you want to call him. But that's what you got to do sometimes. He looked at the hole he was standing in and then at the yard as a whole, White picket fence. My ass. But Harold.

Yeah? You don't have a fence. He cut his eyes at me, but slowly a smirk started to slice across the lower half of his face until it evolved into a hearty chuckle. Thanks. I needed that. Sometimes you got to dig a hole? I asked.

Harold snapped his finger. That's damn right. I can't explain exactly what it was that jumped into me at that moment. Looking back on it, it's the most indescribable sensation. I looked back to my house across the street beneath my umbrella. in the dreary rain, and even in the cool weather, I could feel fire in the pit of my stomach. Perhaps he infected me with madness, but I'd rather state my case as this. Sometimes you've got to dig a hole because that's what feels right.

Splashing through puddles as I ran through the rain towards the shed in my backyard, I found my old worn-out shovel. It was rusted from years of disuse, and I bolted. towards heralds, even forgetting my umbrella. I must have lost my mind, running around in the rain with a cold to go and dig a hole with my neighbor. When I say it aloud, it sounds insane, but when you're in the moment, well, things are different. I jumped into the small hole he'd created and began chipping away at the edges and loosening the dirt so that we'd have a wider area for both of us to dig comfortably. He said nothing to me as I joined. My tired, cold-riddled body ached with each passing moment, but then something else joined in. I've heard people talk about

getting a runner's high from pushing beyond your limit, and that seems as good in explanation as any other. The light rain gave way to a sunny midday lull, as each shovel push felt less like the last, and more like we were doing something important. It could have been a few hours or only a few minutes before I looked up to examine my surroundings. Regardless, when I did look up from the ground, we'd cleared out enough dirt so that we were standing in the hole up to our waist. Harold continued as digging, but I took a moment to catch my breath, and when I did, I heard a familiar voice. Clay? What are you two doing? I looked up. Standing in nearly the same spot as I had been earlier that morning, there was Rogers and Margaret. Rogers was a man in his mid-30s who wore sweaters

everywhere and walked his dog around the neighborhood to shit on other people's lawns. In fact, in his right hand was a leash drawn taut as the little mutt most likely watered Harold's hedges hidden in the leaves. Margaret, on the other hand, was an elderly runner. In her bright, sick green and purple sweats, she hardly got any workout if you ask me. I think she went around the neighborhood hoping to catch or dish the latest gossip. I grinned at the two of them. You know how it is. Sometimes you got to dig. You're more than welcome to join us, if you'd like. They looked at one another, then back at me. This time, Margaret spoke. What are you digging for?

Digging for? I thought the question over for a moment. We're not looking for anything, if that's what you mean. I turned to look at my compatriot for support. Harold, tell them what you were telling me earlier. Harold barely looked up as he heaved another hunk of moist dirt out of the hole. It's all bogus. You work for things.

You want to be loved and to love in return. And that's where he mess up because you should have been doing that to yourself the whole time and not searching it from someone else Then he sighed and looked up while leaning against his shovel handle What I'm trying to say is there's no reason to dig but focusing on the task at hand sure does let my mind wander Who needs therapy anyway? It's expensive and you could have been digging all along Diggin. For the truth? For the truth? It might look like dirt and roots to you, but to me this is where I'm figuring my shit out." As the two of them listened to him, I could see the light in their eyes return, and it felt

once more like they were humans with a spark of initiative and not plain boring suburbanites. Rogers swiped his hair back in contemplation, totally messing up the perfect widow's peak he developed. He lifted his dog and ran down the sidewalk, screaming over the wall. his shoulder. I'll be right back. I watched him go for a moment and then shifted my attention to Margaret, but she too was gone. When the two of them returned, I wasn't surprised. What did surprise me, however, is that while Roger showed up with a shovel on his shoulder like a rifle, Margaret came jogging back with a wheelbarrow full of tools, shovels, axes, pickaxes. Among the things she brought, was a gas-powered auger, and I must admit that this did surprise me quite

a bit. There was a feverish tinge in her face, one that said she meant business. I swear when Harold heard the auger fire up, he grinned from ear to ear. It was contagious. It felt like the deeper we got, we were compelled by an external force of some kind, whispers just from around the corners of our faces. Everyone began talking about it. Our team of four quickly grew into ten, then twenty, then thirty. By the time the people getting off work drove by, babysitters were called for those that had children. When asked how long they'd be gone, they didn't give an answer and doubled the pay.

Terry, Roger's husband, showed up to the hole, trying to urge him to drop this craziness, but it wasn't long till he found himself in the hole digging along with the rest of us. We hacked the maples to pieces in the yard and move those pieces into the street. By the time it was getting too dark to dig, Linus, a single dad, hauled over his grill and started cooking hamburgers and hot dogs for the tired diggers. It got to the point that when I was standing in the hole, the top was nearly 15 feet over my head. Its diameter was at least 25 feet.

We lounged, dirt covered but smiling and in the whole. and joking and talking about the weather, as we ate and cracked open a few beers. If not for the massive hole in Harold's front yard, it may have been a regular cookout. Gathering together string lights on poles and teaky torches, we brought the yard alive and setting up plastic sunbathing chairs to bed down for the night. What was the plan for that? Well, I'd say it's obvious. All of us had the intention of continuing the project the following morning. I caught sight of Harold near the sidewalk, peering down into the hole.

He sipped from a beer bottle and a little satisfied smile played out across his face. On approach, he greeted me with a simple nod. It sure is something, isn't it? I said. Ah, that it is. Can't believe we made it this far. How long do you think it'll take till we can't go anymore? He said.

I glanced at the gathered crowd falling asleep in plastic chairs or chatting amongst themselves in groups of three or four at a time. Well, I've heard people joking that they won't stop till we hit China. That's the sort of stuff only kids talk about, and I think it's magical that full-grown people can play pretend like that. There was a pause as I too stared into the pit, admiring it in all its glory. done a good thing here, haven't we?" Certainly."

Harold took a quick swig of the beer. This is crazy. He laughed. He had a tired look in his eye that I could sympathize with. You should get some rest. He checked the watch on his wrist. If we hope to make an impact tomorrow, we should start early. I put up two fingers and gave him a lazy, joky salute.

Good night. Night Never before in my life, have I slept like I did that night? It wasn't just the tiredness or my cold either, if I were to guess. In black dreams I heard what only can be described as electric bubbles in my ears. The screeching in the night filled me and hollowed me out same as we did that pit. It was a nightmare, I should say that much, but it was so much more than that. The best way I could put it is that it felt as though my soul, even if I'd never been one to believe in such a thing before, was leaving my body.

And I was a nothing person, less than human for it. Then the screeching in my dreams woke me, and I realized that I was not hearing the sounds of dreams, but the sounds of screams. I propelled myself off the chair and staggered around, bleary-eyed. It was still night or early morning. What's happening? I tried saying. My neighbors were running towards the pit, and there was already a crowd of them gathered at

its edge. I followed, slapping my face awake. As I came to the edge of the hole among the others, I froze. There was a place at the opposite end of the pit where the dirt floor had given out to some unknowable chamber. From it sprang forth whipping. glistening tendrils, bright red and thin as paper-clip wire. Each one writhed independently from the others, but must have come together on the end of some

great unseen beast in the dirt. Several of them held Rogers well over our heads as I looked on with extraordinary horror at what I was seeing. The tendrils cracked like whips against his body, sending out shrill, pus-curtural screaming screams. They shed him of his clothes and then began stripping him of his skin as well. My eyes shot to Terry. He looked on entirely helpless at what was happening. I could see the frozen tears in his eyes, not quite accepting what was in front of his face. All our faces. I saw it, and I can tell you still that I have dreams of it, or sometimes I try and tell myself that

it was all some fever mirage of my cold. But I know that's not true. It's impossible to retract Rogers' more red-runny muscles and exposed bone than anything else hardly looked like a human anymore. The tendrils lifted him ever higher and twisted his body like a rag, then dropped him dead before recoiling into their subterranean layer. The hole in the pit that went deeper. The place it had spawned from echoed a gurgle to signify that the chamber was large, very large. Terry screamed finally, taking towards one of the ladders protruding from the hole. Margaret tried reaching for him, but he was too fast. In moments, he was in the pit, on his knees before his husband. I couldn't bear to watch him cry over Rogers like that and tried scanning the area,

for Harold, but he was gone. Instead, my eyes fell on the flaps of skin that caught along the crags and the sidewalk and the debris we'd created in our endeavor to dig our way to China. They flapped like flags in the wind. I couldn't help it. I stepped from the hole and keeled over throwing up the hot dogs I'd had earlier. A few people joined me. By the time I wiped the muck from around my mouth and looked back up. Terry was already at the ladder again, at the bottom of the pit and screaming at somebody, anyone, to come help him as he carried Roger's corpse and toe. He was covered in his husband's blood. One of the corpse's legs moved across the ground, like a piece of bald lint on the edge of a string. Then I heard the noise

from my dreams. It was maddening. It seemed to be coming from in the inside my own head, like a musical popping. It sent a shiver down my spine. At some point, tears began to flow as I looked on the crowd of gathered faces, and I could tell that they heard it too, and we all knew what it meant. We marched towards the ladders, pressed around the edges of the hole, our feet no longer our own, each of us, with a tool in our hands. Terry dropped the corpse and began walking towards the place the dirt had opened up, just as we all did. We were going in, totally transfixed. I remember looking at the faces that came along, and I couldn't help but notice that Harold

was not among them. I wondered briefly if he had had the sense to run away when he had the chance. As we filed into the chamber, one by one, The slanted dirt of the cavern made for arduous moving. It must have taken us down another hundred feet at least. Finally, our feet met solid stone. In the distance there was a city of spires and ancient stone with fire lights snapping intermittently.

There was no logical reason for its existence. Seeing that place, from even as far away as we did, I felt a sense of dread. I was sick. I was tired and I was shaking from the existential horror before us. The city in the distance, beneath the impossibly high ceiling of the cavern, called us nearer. Among my neighbors there were whispers of the most unfathomable possibilities. As we moved along, carrying teaky torches and pickaxes, wet schlepping sounds, came from overhead, and as we peered over our own heads to see what creature it was coming from, the ropy red tendrils of the thing that had killed Rogers dangled from the flat ceiling.

The ropy limbs of the thing hung from its bulbous fat body. It seemed to be breathing, but otherwise did not move. As Margaret removed a flashlight from her person and shone her light around, it became obvious that the ceiling was covered in those monstrosities, spaced out from one another by about twenty yards. Jesus Christ, said Linus, I can't believe this has been under our feet this whole time. I don't think this was under our feet, I said. Hearing it aloud like that, it made too much sense.

You'd have thought we would have heard these Eldritch horrors knocking around before then. I don't think this place was here before. What the hell are you talking about? Linus cut his eyes from me, the fire from his teakie torch illuminating his face. He was scared. I could see it. I just mean, I think we did this. Margaret interjected. Look! Our eyes followed where she pointed, and I felt a shiver run up my spine. Up the way through boulders and sharp debris, we caught sight of watchers. patrolling the edge of the city, twig spider legs that bowed out with each step from

atop round seats with spotlights scanning the area. The detail of them from so far away, in the dark was blurred, but I can promise you that they looked like monstrosities ripped from a painting. What are those? Even as I spoke the words, I knew that no living human could have looked up on them before, because every aspect of their anatomy seemed to defy all understanding. Seeing them made me so uneasy that I reached out from one of my neighbors in the dark so that I might have anyone to hold on to. What are they? I repeated. Let go of me. Daryl, a devout member of the neighborhood watch, slapped my hand away.

I offered him a weak smile. I'm sorry. I've just never seen anything like it. None of us have. It's phantasmagorical, I said, totally awestruck. Darrell and Margaret both looked at me funny and responded by simply peering ahead at the watchers. We walked, and as we did, I began to feel the cold I'd been suffering from prior, began to take hold over me. My nose began to run.

My muscles ached, and I sniffled. I believe that working in the rain the previous day had done little to improve my situation. No one mentioned it, but I kept glancing overhead at the stringy things dangling from the ceiling, wondering if they could hear the noises I was making. My mind continuously went back to the way they'd utterly destroyed Rogers, and I couldn't help but shudder to think what they might do to me. How much longer till you think we reach them? asked Linus. No one answered him. The echo of the infinite-seeming chamber was the only

thing. It seemed that we went for perhaps hours, slipping or tumbling across the bent, moist rocks that the floor became as we neared the city of spires. All the while, those unnameable beasts overhead never left our visage. Wimpers escaped the crowd when we passed by one, edging around the limbs while giving them a wide berth. One of the red tendrils curled on itself, sending a shrill cry from Linus. The thing took little notice of us as we hurried along. The outline of the city ahead became even more clear. It feels like we've been walking forever, I said. Whether this was due to the fact that I was more tuckered than the others, or if it was that we had trod over the rough terrain for a vast and measurable time.

I couldn't tell. We met a great rock face that stabbed towards the ceiling. It seemed our best bet at finding a place to rest, and I mentioned it in passing. With grumbles over how we should continue moving dispersed, and we sat with our back to the flat surface of the rock, the others too began to express discontent with our journey. We never should have come here, hushed Margaret. Darrell scanned the surroundings from a position atop a waist-high boulder. I can't remember where the exit is.

I don't think we can go back. The exit doesn't exist anymore. The anxiety in his voice crept up my spine. It was true. Why had none of us thought to leave behind guidepost for the journey back? Or was it that we had collectively accepted our fate and subconsciously decided, None of us were going to leave anyway? I sat against the rock among a few half-familiar faces.

That's not possible, said Margaret. She moved to the rock he was standing on, reaching up a hand. He hoisted her bony frame up, her gray hair catching around her face. As she swiped it back, she pivoted in all. all directions. There's the city. If we've come in a straight line, it should be somewhere over there." She pointed an inconsequential finger towards dark shadows.

Right? Daryl shook his head. Why have we come here? The madness was evident in his tone, but I was too tired to look up from my seated position against the big rock. I stared at the ground and wished I had to be. had something to blow my nose into. The others began setting up a makeshift camp, positioning torches in stone cracks and lying out jackets to do so. When I finally did look up again,

I could see that Margaret and Darrell moved from their position on the rock and took up among the others. The ceiling, alien and starless with those monsters, made me uneasy. I spent my time counting the people in our camp, 28 scared faces. Each of them looked warily over their shoulders at every small noise. Margaret moved from person to person, and when she came to me to ask if I was feeling all right, I shrugged it off. She left me and continued roaming the camp with her hands on her hips, scanning further vicinity. Margaret pulled a hairband from her wrist and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. For a long moment, I was surprised at just how agile and full of energy the old bird was. Perhaps those daily walks through the neighborhood were paying off for her.

I wish I'd felt the same in that moment. After glancing around to make sure that no one was watching me, I quickly took the long sleeve of my shirt and blew my nose into it. A few people looked my way, but quickly went back to whatever conversations they were having. I was so tired. Rubbing my temples, I rose to my feet and moved to the same rock that Margaret and Daryl had been standing on. After shifting myself slowly up, I began looking around. Near the city, perhaps a mile away, were the watchers with the spotlights. I could just make out the vague shadowy figures riding atop them, and I briefly wondered whether they would be able to see me if they were to shine their lights in my direction. I rubbed my eyes. They felt tender to the touch,

and I could scarcely keep them open. How I wished for the warm comfort of my bed in those hours. How I wish, I'd never checked on Harold. It would have been better for me, better for everyone, if I'd only left him be. The urge to leave that place was ever growing, ruminating in murmur. Most of the group wanted to inspect the city, still transfixed by its spell, while others wanted to leave. It seemed that half that wished to carry forward had it in their heads that the only way out was through. Margaret was one of the more vocal about deserting whatever horrors lurked in that place,

and I was right by her. Daryl and Linus both were vehemently defending that, we continue. everyone's rested up. We should head on, said Linus. It's just like Harold said. There's some truth to be found here. What was all that digging for, if not this? Darrell, with his arms crossed, nodded alongside Linus. I shook my head. There's no reason for it. We've been duped, guys. Harold didn't know what he was talking about. He was just grieving. There was no reason for us to jump in and start digging too, what were we even doing it for? This was true. I couldn't even remember why I decided to help dig in the first place. It all felt so pointless. That's Bubkiss,

said Linus, and you know it just as well as I do. It's a general discontent with the state of affairs that's brought us here, and I only intend to resurface once I've found the purpose I've been looking for all my life. There's a magic to this place, and it exists for a reason. It would have been nice if that were true, but looking around at the deep shadows of the massive cavern, I could see only desolation. Margaret cut in. I don't care what you do. I'm going back. She studied the group. Those of you that want to leave can come with me or not. The mix of the mix of the Expressions of hopefulness and fear made me sick. It seemed that we were destined to split up with half of us going on and half going back.

I only hoped in that moment that we'd actually be able to find our way out of the cavern. Just as it seemed that Linus was going to respond, the first fish fell from the cavernous ceiling. It was some cod. Upon seeing it there, I blinked to make sure I'd not merely conjured it from my own. my imagination. It came from seemingly nowhere at all. But as it landed on the flat ground in the center of us, it flopped, and its mouth sucked and puckered at nothing, as it reversed drowned. I reached a timid foot forward to nudge it with my shoe as Margaret peered up at the ceiling. As the words, Where did that come from? Came from my mouth, another fish fell directly under

Margaret's upturned face, she shrieked and kicked the thing away. Within minutes, wet plod surrounded us as it began to rain down a waterfall torrent of ocean fish. A flounder bounced off my shoulder, slapping me with its tail. We took up our arms over our heads to cover ourselves from the incoming barrage of sea animals. It was the most insane thing I've seen in my entire life. smelled of salt, and the pattering of the fish landing on the ground is a noise I won't soon forget. The screams of my fellow humans echoed all around, barely above the sounds of the fish storm. We began to take cover near the great flat rock. I dove across people and wriggling fish to reach it, pushing and shoving and getting shoved in return. In panic, my shoulder met the rock,

and I turned to look back at my neighbors frantically searching for shelter. In an uproar, I could see that Darrell was fighting with something clinging to his face as it wrapped its snaky limbs around his throat. He attempted to wretch the thing off, but it only pulled itself more tightly around him. It took far too long for my brain to realize what I was seeing. The thing holding itself to Darrell was an octopus, with a head roughly the same. size of a Doberman. No one came to his aid, and he quickly fell to his knees. His last few screeching breaths left his lungs. I watched on in concentrated frozen terror through the last few still-lit

flickering torchlights, as Daryl's right hand came up in an arched claw to dig into the thing's chewy flesh, and then Daryl went still altogether. Margaret launched towards towards the thing, totally ignoring the falling fish, arching an axe as she might a baseball bat, and swatting the octopus off Daryl's prone head. Snapping out of it, I sped forward, grabbing a hold of Daryl's wrist and dragging him to the relative safety of the big rock as Margaret stood guard. He didn't kick or scream, and I wished that he were only unconscious. As Margaret returned to the shelter of the rock, we went to the shelter of the rock.

He went to shine a light on Darrell. His face was no longer a face, but a skull with open optic holes through which only pink brain could be seen. I recoiled. That's not normal, said Margaret, shaking her head and kicking the rock face as she planted a flat hand against it. Looking back now, I think to myself what a strange thing that is to say. In dire circumstances, the thing that needs to be said is so far from one's grasp that

it too becomes fleeting. And there's nothing save the obvious and concrete. No. It was not normal. What are we going to do? My voice was small, caught in my throat. I was surprised that anyone could hear me over the sound of the fish rain, but Linus did. We moved to the city where it's safe.

There's no going back now. It wants us here. Even with a mad twinkle in his eye, I could clearly hear the fear in his voice. What exactly it was and why it wanted us here? I couldn't say. We stayed pressed to the rock till the fish stopped falling. By the time they did, we were nearly up to our knees in them. Their dead eyes looked up at us, and sometimes their tails would twitch, forcing me to double

take to make sure there was not another tentacled creature among them. As we pushed on, stepping over or around the dying and dead fish, we came to a flat open area of ground that encompassed the city of spires. It seemed it had been intentionally worn down. With every step, I felt we were more vulnerable. A spotlight from one of those horrid watchers passed over us as we marched, and I could nearly feel the heat of it. We froze, and the watcher ignored us, pivoting the light in another direction. I wondered if it could even sense our presence at all. My legs began to feel heavy,

my arms too, but this wasn't the normal sort of tiredness I'd been experiencing up until that point. It felt as though I'd been drugged. Looking around at my neighbors as we went, I could sense a dazing in them as well. I watched as their limbs moved in slow motion and it occurred to me that we were hardly making any leeway whatsoever. Does anyone else feel tired? I asked. Yeah. I twisted my head around to see that it was Linus. Now that you mention it, I am feeling really tired. It's like I want to lie down and sleep. God, I've never felt like this before. It felt like someone was trying to pull my eyelids closed with pinched fingers. Something was amiss. The city of spires ahead grew foggy, and the fires that illuminated it flickered. No, I was blinking, the slow blink of someone on

the verge of sleep. Someone's cries met my ears. I turned my head to the right to see that Terry was sliding his feet along the smooth stone floor. Why'd Rogers have to die? It should have been me. He said the words so much like facts, while his ankle shifted forward in stumbling steps. The pickaxe he carried, grinded along the floor of the cavern, as he dragged it with a limp wrist by the handle. A chorus of other tools soon followed, as we all began to be able to be able to be able to be able to be to carry our tools in this way. Terry's eyes welled with tears. I should have died. He was losing his mind. It was all too much. No amount of what I said would be able to snap

him out of it. He was giving up. He choked. I just want to die. It was the wail of a dying critter. Hey, I tried. It's going to be all right, Terry. It's going to be okay. Just push on. Don't give up. We're going to make it out of here. No. For the briefest of moments, his eyes grew lucid as they met mine. No. We're not, Clay. That's okay, though. I'm just going to lie down for a little while. I heard the handle of his pickaxe claying against the floor. He was no longer. dragging it. I'm just gonna lie down and I'll catch up with you later, all right? Don't do that. I tried shaking my head quickly to jumpstart myself out of the strange affliction. Margaret called out from somewhere behind, Don't go to sleep.

She sounded like she was having a hard time speaking. It's trying to make us go to sleep. I'm... Terry fell to his knees. Just gonna close my eyes. It'll all be over soon enough. He fell onto the solid ground with a dull thud. Another body ahead fell.

It was the lady who ran the salon down the road, but I could never remember her name. Then someone else to my left. It wasn't long till we were dropping like flies. Every thud of a body on the hard ground was another stake in the heart. It made me wonder how long I would last. Margaret called out from somewhere behind again. Clay, you still awake up there? Yeah, I'm still here.

I don't know how much longer I'm going to make it, Clay. Can you do me a favor? I have a granddaughter. If you make it out of here, will you tell her I love her? There was a series of snuffles. Will you tell her? I love her. her and that I'm sorry I couldn't see her grow into a woman.

Can you do that for me?" No. I was surprised how much command I still had over my own voice, even though I could no longer turn my head to look behind and can only see the rotating watchers and city beyond. I didn't want to lose, Margaret. I can't do that, because you're going to make it out of here, same as me. You hear me? A few more bodies struck the ground, and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears was the

only thing for miles. I waited and waited and waited for her response. Every step forward I took was met with nothing but the sounds of my neighbors dropping. Was she already asleep? Had she succumbed to the wicked magic of the cavern? Was I the last one standing? this become my eternity, walking toward a dark city, suspended in infinite time. Okay, Clay, said Margaret. At hearing her voice, I felt a new strength in my legs, and even as my

muscles meant resistance like I was pushing through water, I began stomping defiantly towards the watchers, and the sounds of others' footfalls came too. Then the sinking feeling I had had in the pit of my stomach began to disappear and I was sprinting. I'd broken the threshold of the spell, it seemed. As my muscles felt normal once more, I stopped and turned around, laid out before me, was mostly bodies. The only ones left was me and Margaret and Linus. He pushed on, slapping his face while she blinked repeatedly and rubbed her cheeks. I've never felt anything like that before, said Linus.

I can't believe I made it. There was nearly a cheeriness in his voice till he met me and looked out onto the bodies. The many dead forms of the group fallen behind. My God, said Margaret. Red tendrils spilled from the dark recesses of the ceiling, reaching for the extremities of the dead or sleeping and suspending them in mid-air like puppets for a moment, before carefully, almost delicately, pulling them up and from our eyes into the shadows. As the bodies disappeared to the ceiling, a sound followed, the sound of grinding bones, of stripping wet, of those creatures

above devouring them. There was nothing left in that open stone field but the torches and tools they'd left behind. I bit my lips shut to keep from screaming. It wasn't much farther till we'd passed the watchers patrol and there were only three of us left. We were all as good as dead. This is madness, said Linus, shaking. his head. I can't believe it. He was right. I couldn't believe it either. I couldn't believe any of it. Margaret was busy examining the Prussian blue walls of the firelit city as one of the watchers stomped their spinly legs over us, giving me a perfect view of the undercarriage of its bulbous top.

Beneath what must have been a cabin with some fashion of mechanisms were twisted tubes that pulsated, as though they were attempting to emulate the bladders of a living thing. The watchers' spotlight illuminated the far-away darkness in a perfect circle, as it lifted its foot once more to proceed in its never-ending patrol. At the base of those thin legs were wide bird-like appendages, precariously balancing its top-heavy body. The screech of unseen gears broke the silence. It passed over like we were nothing more than inconsequential bugs. Jesus, I said, glancing over to see that Margaret too had removed herself from the wall. She turned her face up to the thing.

We looked to each other with our mouse hanging open. What are those things? Margaret shook her head. Linus interjected. Big assholes. He spat. There was a new air about him, unreserved. More than anything else, it made me extremely uncomfortable to meet his eyes.

Something was amiss inside Linus. It was more than a vigor, the thing humans find in extenuating situations. It was like he'd lost something along the way. A piece of him was gone, and it was only then that I could see it. Why are you looking at me like that? He grinned at me. though we'd not just witnessed the death of half the godforsaken neighborhood. No reason.

I wiped my nose. Damn cold. I'm just tired. Margaret lifted her axe over her head as she stretched. Walls too high to climb. It looks like we'll have to go around till we find an opening. There was a pause that hung in the wet air. Though I'm not so sure we should.

I looked to the general direction I thought that perhaps we'd entered the cavern, and then at the vibrant blue color of the city walls. I don't think we'd make it back, if we tried. I could not vouch for the other two, but I was uncertain that I'd be able to walk back through whatever aura protected the place. Not for the first or last time. I silently admonished myself for encouraging Herald. This was a hell of my own design. I'd brought it on myself, after all. I'd brought it on us all." Linus, with those wild mad eyes, grinned.

Clay's right. Only ways through. That's what we've got to do. It's the only thing that makes sense. In fact, I don't think anything has ever made more sense in this whole crazy world to me. Margaret looked to me, shooting me a glare that told me I probably shouldn't be saying things like that around Linus. But then her shoulders relaxed, and she sighed, puffing up a wild gray strand of hair as she did so before shaking her head. I can't believe I'm saying this, but you're probably right. This is the dumbest thing I've ever done. Nonsense, said Linus. Look at this place. He put his arms up to accentuate his point. It's beautiful. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. How many people do you think

have ever seen anything like this before? Too many, said Margaret. A smirk took over Linus's lower face. I'm telling you, he was grinning like a maniac. There was something going on there, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what it was. Something was wrong with him. I've I've read things about the uncanny valley, and I feel as though that's the best way I can describe it. He was no longer the friendly neighborhood barbecue connoisseur. It was like a new thing had jumped into him, and whether it was the dark magic of the place or his own mind that had done it.

I don't know till this day. We took off to the right, following along with the curvature of the city's outer wall, brushing the ends of his fingers intimately over its surface, while Margaret and I studied him. The huge open cavern shouldn't have felt so claustrophobic, but it did. The darkness lingering over our heads where the foul creatures hid, clinging to the ceiling, forced my chest to tighten. It felt harder to breathe, or perhaps it was just my clog nose.

I skirt it away from the line we created as we walked to blow it. to blow my nostrils open with my finger. Under any other circumstances, I may have been embarrassed, but something told me that we were far beyond that. So many had already died. I glanced to my two traveling companions and hoped I would not have to see any more suffering, but could sense that that was unlikely. I rejoined them and no one mentioned a thing.

They instead opted to stare ahead without saying a word. The three of us had gone perhaps twenty minutes in silence before Margaret began to fall behind, taking slower steps and keeping a distance from us by about fifteen yards. "'What's keeping you back there?' asked Linus. Margaret waved this off. "'Just not as young and spry as I used to be as Hall. Nothing to worry about. I think I just need to catch my breath.'

I went to her and touched her on the shoulder. It's all right. We can take a break if you need to." She latched onto my hand and pulled me close, whispering in my ear, Keep an eye on him. I don't trust him. Before I could even respond, she shoved me away. Linus took his hand off the wall and turned completely around. What are you two talking about back there?

Margaret offered a smile. Nothing. Clay was just asking me if I needed a break. I'm fine." He raised an eyebrow with the pair of us. Okay. Then he placed his hand on the wall again, possession taking over his steps. It wasn't long till Margaret fell in line with us once again.

I couldn't get what she'd said to me out of my mind. Until that point I'd been worried I was the only one noticing Linus's strange behavior. This should have served to quell the anxieties I had of him, but it only made it so they flourished. I kept him in my eye line. A patrolling watcher stepped over us, and we stopped to let it pass. I could see them a million times in my dreams, and they would never cease being alien to me. In fact, I have, and they remain that way. The watcher's strange ball briefly lit the high ceiling as it shifted up and I could see a mess of wicked things, tightly bound skin and faces sewn in frozen torment served as an appropriate juxtaposition to the Sistine

Chapel. Before I could check to see if the faces matched any of the ones we'd left behind, the watcher groaned in its mechanical way and laughed. Linus was smiling. Beautiful. A shiver went at my spine. I think I see the entrance up ahead. said Margaret. Squinning, I could see she was right. Just around a bend, the wall opened. How long had we been walking? The repetitive nature of our footfalls had long since taken me off to another place like

hypnosis. If not for her signaling it, I might have walked right by it. The archway was magnificently tall, constructed from an assortment of cyclopean stones. I was left to wonder exactly what's sort of creature could have carved them. I couldn't have imagined the watchers doing so, urging the massive stone blocks across the ground with their thin legs. No, it seemed to me that there was only one explanation. They were of an ancient imagination, withdrawn from the recesses of a mind far gone. We passed through the archway, only to be met by the ruins of a lost civilization.

I was immediately struck by the dizzying way the walkways spun through the spired structures. The streets, if one could call them that, were worn thin as though they'd once been traversed by living beings. My mind went to the Samarian cities, created so long ago, and I wondered if perhaps this was something similar. I knew this not to be the case. No human would have found comfort in that place. No sane, human, anyhow.

The inner side of the wall surrounding the city was onyx black so dark that I felt if I were to reach out and touch it, I might fall directly into it. Linus whistled up the tall buildings that seemed to have no entry ways of their own. It was as though they were nothing more than hollowed-out slabs. Who would construct buildings that could never be used? You guys ever see anything like this?" He asked. No, said Margaret.

As we passed by the massive thorny buildings striking up at the ceiling of the cavern, we were cast in shadows. Margaret and I both removed flashlights, but it hardly cut through the blackness ahead. It was a constant fear that something would slither from the darkness and snatch us away to some torturous fate. of the faces I'd seen in the ceiling, I felt my arms spring alive with goose flesh. Linus caught my uneasiness, and he reached out to pat me on the shoulder. I flinched. Whoa, he said. Calm down there, buddy. There's no reason to be so jumpy. I'm not. I shrugged,

while turning my attention back to the shadows in front of us. I'm fine. We moved by the first few structures, glancing down the snaking thin alleyways, but deciding in silence to continue our way down the street we were on. Each time we met one of those openings on either side, where the buildings broke open to those dark corners of the city, I could feel unreal eyes on me. I felt so totally vulnerable in those moments, like my lungs might rupture and exhaust all the oxygen from my body. But we pushed on. And the spires opened up to some kind of abandoned market square where flame lights flickered the shadows away.

Among the torchlights were booths where people had once sold wares. And I was once again comforted by the fact that some intelligent life had in fact dwelled there sometime in the distant past. In the center of the square was a massive black tower that rose well above all else. Everything was silent, but our own steps for a blinking moment. A single fish fell from the sky and landed near the black spire. Linus went to it, and Margaret and I both followed him. He hunkered down over it and prodded it with the end of his index finger, then looked over

his shoulder. Again? He asked apparently no one. Linus stood and looked to the black expanse above. We've seen this already," he said, and his voice echoed back at him. Did you hear me? You've already done this. Whether or not Linus summoned what was to follow, I'm unsure. But when I look back on the words I've written so far, I want nothing more than to reach

through the words and throttle him. There's no changing the past. A great groaning escaped from somewhere in the shadows overhead, and I have expected the great red tentacle beast from above to come down and make us their playthings, but they didn't show. Instead, shattering glass rained from above. I was left frozen, as the shard seemed to materialize from seemingly nothing. I put my arms over my head and hurried to the black spire, hoping to find some cover from the falling glass, but the tower did little. A few darting shards caught my legs, but I felt nothing through the rush of adrenaline. Linus stood in the center of the market, face up, screaming.

His voice could scarcely be heard over the shattering glass. As he twisted around, gripping his face, I could see that a thorn of glass had driven its way into his left eye. Blood rushed down the front of his shirt. Margaret clung to me, and I to her. Shit, shit, shit, shit. She was yelling directly into my ear, eyes clenched shut and fingers digging into my arm. I began feeling around the wall of the flat-sided tower as we inched our way around it.

My fingers met an opening, and I pulled Margaret in with me. We fell in, and she scrambled in the dark to withdraw her flashlights, while I peered out. out from the crevice in the tower to scream towards Linus. I saw him dancing in the square with his hands at his face. Over here, come over here! As the words left my mouth, Linus twisted to face me, and I caught another good look at the gory mess. He latched a hand onto the shard jutting from his eye, and his fingers slid down the sharpened edge of the glass, cutting his hand and causing it to slip as he attempted to pry it from his face. He latched on with both hands and finally launched the thing from his eye socket.

I did it, he said, torrents of blood rushing from his head. The glass rain didn't let up, and he seemed to not even notice, as it diced his exposed arms to flayed ribbons that hung off him in cords, exposing the tissue. you beneath. Linus! I was too late. A ship's mast fell from the ceiling, landing directly on top of him. It crushed him, and I recoiled back into the dark recesses of the crevice we'd found.

My stomach lurched, thinking of the way he'd become no more than a stain. The sound of clinking glass continued, and I'd dare to peek out once more, ignoring the spot where Linus's raspberry squashed remains were. There, crashing over the towering structures and sending up plumes of debris and hunks of stone was the bow of a ship whirling through the air. Margaret looked at me, dark circles forming around her eyes that I'm sure I reciprocated. A handful of short red streaks ran the length of her face where the glass had caught her. A stinging Sorness in my own cheeks confirmed that I must have looked much the same. The stress we'd been under was beginning to take its toll.

It's just you and me now. I informed her, the frankness with which I delivered the news scared me. I know. She sighed. There's stairs over here. I grabbed her by the shoulders. We're both going to make it out of here, aren't we? When had I started shaking her?

She ripped herself out of my hands. Clay, damn it, get off me. I caught her stern expression, but it was quickly replaced by a look of concern. You're not going to start acting crazy too, are you? My shoulders slumped. No, I shook my head. I just don't want anyone else to die. Margaret grabbed my face.

Her cold, bony hands grounded me. I'm not going to die. You're not going to die. All right? I was losing my mind. She was right. I couldn't be thinking like that. It would do neither of us any good.

She shone her light into the shadows to reveal a plain carved staircase that spiraled up through the center of the spire. I choked out my words. I don't want to keep going. She shifted the light to shine it on me. I felt very small when she did that. I don't think we have any choice in the matter. The shattering of the glass just beyond the open doorway and the splintering hall of the wooden

ship flying through the air drove away my final protest. We were going on and we had no choice. To what end? What did we hope to find? There would be no way out. The stairs seemed to go on forever, and it felt as though there was a physical presence pulling me, weighing me down. Margaret's heels kicked high as she ascended the steps ahead of me, with the axe out in

front of her chest. Our flashlights illuminated the small space we traveled through. The higher we went in the spire, the closer the walls around us, the higher we went, the the walls around us grew as though the building tapered nearer the top. My chest grew tighter with my cold working against me. I believe in that climb of the staircase. I became delirious. I tried with my spare hand to feel my forehead, hoping that I'd not come down with a

blistering fever, but somehow that felt ridiculous. Who cared if that was the case? I couldn't imagine that it would matter. What would happen if I were to just take a seat on? those steps and refused to continue. With everything in me, I believe I could have taken a seat and died. Wasting away in a dark tower would have been a fate less abominable than the unimaginable horrors beyond. Surely. I'm afraid that if I'd not had Margaret ahead of me, pushing on with her wiry, persistent limbs, that may have been what happened. Whatever the opposite of Constantine,

of concentration. That's what I found in those lingering dark moments on the stairwell. It became a steady zombie walk of doom, where living ceased being a thing, and there was only the movement. The repetition of it lulled me to a place in my mind where things are better. On our way up, we went by slid openings in the stone like ancient fortress windows that allowed us to look upon the city of twisted buildings. The glass had stopped coming. down, I could no longer hear the sound of the ship crashing over rooftops. Somehow the silence was worse. Things would never be the same.

I would forever remember that place in those quiet nights I'd find my eyes going out of focus. Daydreaming would become a thing of the long-forgotten past, because I would always be returned there when imagination came. Are you all right? asked Margaret, without looking over her shoulder or slowing her pace. I think so. Just making sure I'm not alone. I know what you mean.

She angled her pace around the middle pillar of the stairwell, ever tightening its bend. What if there's no end? What do you mean? I mean, what if it goes on forever? There's always an end. My mind was programmed. from a lifetime of constructed narratives that forced a sense of purpose on me and my actions. There's always an end.

How do you know? What if we just keep going on forever? Her voice was shaking. I don't think that's going to happen. I hoped aloud. That's not how it works. We're going to get out of this, remember, just like we talked about. You and me will.

I really hope you're right. I know I am. I said this in the most reassuring way that I could, without actually believing it, even if I wanted to. She stopped. I think I see it. The opening. It's just up ahead. There was hope in her voice that twisted my entrails.

The truth was evident. Beyond her silhouetted shoulder, I could spy dancing. warm light. Our pace quickened, and as we broke the surface at the pinnacle of the spire, I slammed into her without meaning to. We were holding hands, not as lovers, but as humans, because we were scared. At the clean, flat spire top that stretched to a diameter of 20 yards, we stood together aghast at the creature there. The unmoving, half-human-seeming thing gurgled as its chest rose and fell. It sat in a chair of the same onyx I'd seen on the inner wall of the city like it was made of a bitter sick soul. We wagered a few steps toward the thing,

lined in rows of standing torches. Its eyes were wide open white, forgotten by sunlight, so the pupils and irises had taken on a milky blue quality. The thing's arms were strapped, into the chair, black snaking tubes gored into the forearms, frozen hard, so that it couldn't move. The opposite ends of the tubes snaked into the ceiling. It stared directly up to the dark shadows or clouds above. Not even its mouth was free of its own cord that no doubt plumbed the depths of its stomach. As we grew nearer, I could see dry tear stains trace the creases of its crow's feet, and its beard was no longer full, but kinked and thinned from duress. Harold?

I choked out. The thing in the seat did not respond to my voice. On approach, I could see the reason for this. Its ears had been clogged and locked in place by those same black tubes. My God, hushed Margaret. We went to Harold then. not knowing what to do. As I touched his cool naked skin, he seemed to respond in a mumble groan around the thin tube draped in his throat. Why was I crying?

I reached for one of the tubes while Margaret watched me with steady eyes. Neither of us knew what to do, but that wasn't going to stop me from doing what came next. It was a panic that had jumped into my fingers as I clawed at one of the tubes in his left arm. I yanked it, and he let out an awful scream as sludge shot from the place I'd freed the tube spraying me in the face. I let it fall to the side, totally stunned. What was I going to do? Would he die if I pulled him from the chair?

Was he too far gone? Then a whirring began that echoed. The sound of suction filled my ears, and I watched on in horror as the tubes attached to Harold. began sucking something out of him. His eyes closed and he cried whimpering tears. I could not see through the vacant black tubes and to this day do not know what it drew from him, but when the silence came, it was maddening. Margaret looked at me. She held her hands to her forehead, perpetually swiping her hair back in a frantic manner. What's happening? My God! What?

What's happening? And then it began to rain again. No, not rain. It hailed, and thousands of pinking little balls fell from the black sky and rained down on our heads. I closed my eyes and went to Margaret as we tried our best to shield one another from what came, screaming like we screamed in that place so many times already. The twinkling glow caught my eyes as it gazed.

gathered around our feet, and I could see that the hail wasn't ice or rocks, but they were made of gold. I snapped from my terror and held one of them up to my face. Through squinted eyes, Margaret shouted at me, What are you doing? I held up the circle. Their wedding bands. She opened her eyes and looked through the hole in the center of the ring I was holding.

I glanced toward Harold. This is his place, I think. What? There are things darker in the human mind than there are out there in space. No dark gods compared to the inner workings of a human mind. The potentiality of our own terribleness cannot be overstated. Those previous sentences are a post-rationalization. In this moment, I couldn't put the words in place like that.

I simply shook my head and dropped the ring. I don't know. The rings came down and I pattered to the opening at the top of the spire towards the way we'd already come. Margaret had been right. There was no end, but I was going to try, even if it killed me. Her fingers dug into my arm and whipped me around. We can't leave him."

She glanced over at the thing in the chair, still sputtering, gasping for air around the tube fixed in his lips. Not like that. There was a pause before she looked back to me. I wouldn't want to be left like that. Would you? I looked to the axe in her hand. How was it that she'd kept it so long through everything?

Not like that. We can't do it like that. We were screaming to one another over the clinking of the metal rain. What choice is there? Her fingers tightened around the handle of the axe. I, we, could do it quick. I looked to the pitiful herald and nodded. She moved quickly.

It was a task no one wanted a pardon, and the faster it was over, the better. Margaret launched the axe into his chest with a quick heave. His body lurched and spasmed before going still. She ripped the axe away and blood sprayed as his chest opened wide. The wedding ring stopped falling, with the last few ringing out somewhere far away. All was quiet, with Margaret covered in Harold's blood like it was war paint. The cavern air changed. There was nothing. We were standing in a vacuum that might crush us at any moment. Then the world began crumbling. A cavern? was my initial thought, but this was ridiculous,

of course. Cavens didn't happen in places that didn't exist. Such tragedies were for the real world. We'd parted there so long ago. The world was shaking, and the spire trembled, threatening to give away at any moment. The rumbling was all I could hear. Margaret screeched out something, but I couldn't understand. She hung onto the edge of one of the tubes attached to Harold's body. She was waving at me. I stumbled over and fell onto my knees, trying to crawl to her. Her mouth moved, but as I tried deciphering what she was saying,

a great boulder fell from the sky and sheared away the opening of the stairwell behind me. I twisted around on my back to watch it fall away as spider-crack line shot in my direction. I'm certain I was screaming as I moved. I felt a pair of ice-cold hands on my neck and craned around to see Margaret. She screamed over the roar of the falling debris. I can see light! She pointed in the most unexpected of directions. She pointed at Harold's chest.

She shifted to the front of him that had been pried open by the axe. I watched dumbfounded as she pushed her fingers into his chest and opened them more. Indeed, natural light spilled from there. I was immediately reminded of the mumbles of my dead neighbors. The only way was through. So they said. Margaret placed her knee on his thigh and ripped his chest open. I crawled over on shaking arms and pulled myself up to gander in.

It was a dream that I could see trees and perhaps even a touch of real air. I'm not proud of this. I pushed my fist into him and began warming my way through. Freedom was so close that I can nearly taste it. Swimming the visceral ooze in the place between here and there is a feeling I will never wash clean. Digging my closet, I propelled myself forward like a deranged newborn, pulling itself free from its tense mother.

There was no longer a herald or Margaret, or even me. There was only the ravenous growing urge to escape. And I kicked my way through intestines until I tugged away at clans. I tugged away at clumps of dirt and took in labored breaths of fresh air. The sun splintered overhead as I sat choking in the open hole of Harold's front yard. I hocked up a lump of wet mud and scooted onto my knees to peer into the place I'd come from. There was no opening leading back there anymore.

In its place there was only a grouping of loose dirt. I watched and waited and was all alone. I wept and swiped tears away with dry cracked hands. Come on, I said at the pile, come up. The words spit from my mouth. The dirt remained still with no trace of life. Please. I begged whatever it was that had created such a cruel world.

I screamed like a mad. man. It started out small. The pebbles of minuscule bald clay fell away and rolled like children down a grassy hill. A finger with splintered-caped nails sprang forth and then came the whole hand and the forearm. I wrapped my hands around the thin wrist and tugged with everything I had. Then Margaret's head sprang forth, hair clinging to her head. She, she, gasped, open mouth, and eyes closed. Once she was free, she wiped at her face. After a brief coughing fit, where she put her head between her knees as I patted her on the back, she began crying. We made it, I said, the elation in my voice reaching a point of absurdity. There's no reason for that

anymore. We made it. She looked at me. I know. Margaret patted the dust off her shirt. There was a time in there. I saw your feet just above my head. I saw you kicking. You were going to make it. Then I felt something grabbed me from behind and I was stuck. Then your feet disappeared and I couldn't move anymore.

I almost died. I could feel whatever it was squeezing the life out of me. There was a thought I had though. I looked at her puzzled. At least you were going to make it. That's what I thought. That'd be something, at least. Margaret, I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't.

We sat there, curled together on that spot in the bottom of the pit for too long. There was an investigation into the matter by the police. You can't have half a neighborhood disappear without it raising a few eyebrows. Me nor Margaret told the whole story, but the police received what we knew they'd believe. There was a mania, caught among the crowd of people gathered in Harold's front yard, and we couldn't stop digging. We told them that much, and that much was enough. The official record went that we were the victims of hysteria.

We told them of a caven, and that most of the people there were caught in it. They excavated the lot Harold's house stood on and never found a thing. I never figured they would. We each got our share of fines and community service. In the courtroom I recall the judge sneering at me from her high chair as I plead my case. There was jail time for me, but Margaret's lawyer was better. She visited me sometimes. It was time well spent in comparison to what I'd seen.

I got out, Margaret introduced me to her granddaughter, as me and the old lady who once jogged around the neighborhood grew closer, and I came to realize her granddaughter was all she had left. It finally made sense to me that her last request would have something to do with her. We don't talk about that place often, but when we do, it always ends in long nights where we chat over four or five bottles of wine or whatever else is nearby. She's a fair amount older than I am, and I know that I'll be the last, unless by some miracle the old bird outlives us all. Given what she's capable of, I would believe it's possible. I joke like that, to make it seem far and away. Do not let this serve as some fable of morals.

or fault, it was never about blame anyhow. This was about one man's inability to let go of the past.