The Hole
From the book 'Daydreams & Nightmares'
This is The Hole, the first story from my book ‘Daydreams & Nightmares’, available now on Amazon and free on Kindle Unlimited.
The Hole
Misty rain mingled amongst the bare trees. The ground was sloppy under foot and a layer of damp covered everything. Buddy pulled me forward, straining against his leash.
As we crossed the line of trees into the forest, I unclipped him and he went bounding ahead, panting enthusiastically. He loves to explore here, and we haven’t been in so long. But really, the truth is, I suppose I just had to get out of there for a while. There were too many people, and too many opinions, and I just had to recharge on my own. You weren’t supposed to let dogs run loose out here, but I knew there would be nobody around today, and most people just give you a look and don’t say anything.
Not saying anything seems to be the theme today. That’s why I hate these weekends. They always begin as me and her plus them, and eventually end up as her and them plus me. All because she keeps her mouth shut whenever those two bring up anything she finds even slightly uncomfortable. So then she clams up, and if I respond, suddenly it feels like I’m the odd one out. And without fail on the drive home she’ll say, “Sorry, I should have said something . . .”, but by then it’s too late, and I’m already mad and frustrated, and, ironically, not saying anything. So we just drive home in a car full of pleasantries and long silences.
I don’t hold it against her, it’s just who she is. But maybe there comes a point when it’s just one time too many; one further repeat of a pattern that allows you to realise, I see where this is going, and it’s not going to change, and I love you but . . .
A cold wind hissed around me, and my breath filled the air. It was all very frustrating and exhausting, but being out here in the fresh, cool air it felt like it could all maybe just melt away.
Up ahead, Buddy yipped. I whistled, not to call him back, but just to let him know I had heard him. I can’t help but wonder: if she had heard me then maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation. The same thing has happened so many times, and each time she says she’s sorry. She says she wishes she could react differently. She says she understands me when I tell her how isolated it makes me feel.
I checked my watch. Despite being only early afternoon the sky felt unusually dark, the clouds heavy, and the tree-fingers felt expansive and dense, strangling the daylight above me. Buddy is barking at who-knows-what.
And I feel alone. Alone here—in my solitude, in my mind—and alone with her amongst our group of friends. The train of thought came into my mind again that entertained leaving her and letting go of all those years and all those memories. It made me grit my teeth against it, and against the cold, as I noticed my breathing was heavy and the path was overgrown. It wasn’t hard to push the branches aside, but it was so goddamn frustrating to have to do it.
By now, somehow, the forest had become gloomy and I could hear Buddy but not see him. I whistled again, this time to keep him close because it now felt like maybe I should actually just get out of here.
In the cold afternoon, a chill swept over me and I suddenly felt dizzy and drunk, and the only thing I could think was that, yes, I should just get out of here. But what did that mean? What did that entail, exactly? Does that mean that now I’m moving out? And there’s her stuff, and my stuff, and . . . then what? Now I’m back in my hometown again? Back where I grew up? But I haven’t grown up in that case, have I? In that case I would have flashed back to where I was years ago. And what if all these advancements within myself really are nothing when there is no us anymore?
Buddy is really barking now, like when that neighbour cat parades about on the path and he goes crazy. That cat knows what it’s doing but it acts oh-so innocent like it’s just having a stretch out on the warm stones.
As if in a dream, I realise I’ve been walking toward him between the thorn bushes. In front of me there is a split in the path and he seems to be off to the left, but I don’t even remember the path splitting like this. The only light now is from overhead reflecting in the puddled mud, and even the perfectly vertical trees seem to curl over, shrouding me in. I pinch the bridge of my nose because I’m not totally sure which way to go, but now I just want to be gone from here. It’s usually good to be alone with my thoughts, but right now there are too many, and I’m thinking too much.
I emerge at the end of the split path and the brush clears and a light beckons me out. There is a small, natural clearing and this is where Buddy is, and now I can see what he is barking at.
A hole.
The hole is only about six feet across but it feels much larger, and the roots of the trees and the blades of the long grass curl over the ragged lip, reaching down inside as if they are being drawn there. Or, perhaps this whole forest has slithered up and out from the hole, and has bloomed as an extension of its energy.
I find myself becoming very confused because I don’t remember ever seeing this place before, so I don’t know what’s going on. Buddy is just going crazy at this thing—yapping and frothing—and he can’t take his eyes off it.
And nor can I.
I step forward and grab Buddy’s collar, clipping the leash on. I rub his neck to reassure him, and I do feel him calm down somewhat. He’s staring into the soul of that thing in the ground, and where the roots curl over the lip of its mouth the light falls off so sharply that it doesn’t feel natural or comfortable. The hole is filled with a captivating pure black nothingness, and to my horror I start to wonder if it exists by devouring even light itself.
And yet somehow, in the hole’s presence, I feel calm. Like the longer I stare into the darkness the more I feel like everything is going to be okay.
Buddy has felt the shift in me, and he wants nothing to do with this. At first I feel like he’s pulling me back, but then I realise he is firmly planted and I am moving forward. It’s pitch black inside the hole, but I still feel certain there must be something in there.
And then Buddy does pull, twitching his head back because he doesn’t want to follow. And that’s just typical, isn’t it? We named you Buddy together, but you were never my buddy at all, were you? You were always her Buddy right from the start. It was always her lap, or her pats that you preferred, but I guess you’ll begrudgingly accept a consolation walk with me, won’t you?
As I stare into it, the core of the hole burns electric black.
“Come!” I command, and I yank on Buddy’s leash.
If I get close enough to the hole, I feel like I could touch it. Dip my hand in it, just to feel it. I sense that’s the wrong thing to do, but I don’t know for sure, do I? There’s really only one way I could know.
I can’t explain it, but it seems so safe here, kneeling beside the hole, and I can’t help but feel like everything is going to be okay.
Buddy leans against me, and I know he is just seeking reassurance. I smile at him fondly, and absentmindedly rub his belly. His breathing slows and he licks his nose. I scratch his back and he looks between me and the hole, his tongue hanging from the side of his mouth.
Then, curiously, I find myself pushing against him, encouraging him forward. He takes a few steps forward because he wasn’t expecting that, but then he braces and he does not want to go further.
Buddy moves to back away but my hand is there and I stop him. He is barking again now and it is clear that he does not like this. Well, he never truly was my Buddy anyway.
The dog strains against me, and I now use two hands, pushing harder. Its claws scrape against the wet ground, fighting for traction, but the slippery roots and grass provide it no saviour. Its eyes are so wide now that they are ringed with white.
And, at that point, it was quite easy—with a gentle, helping shove—for her Buddy to lose his balance and fall into the hole. The leash snapped taut and my arm jerked straight, but the instant he disappeared into the darkness, his barking was silent, and his weight on the leash was gone. As I stood, what was left of the leash came up with me, cleanly severed, as if anything beyond that lip of darkness simply no longer existed.
And then I was calm. Then I felt like, everything is going to be okay.
I felt that way even as I made my way back along the path, and took the opposite fork. I felt that way to some extent as the grip of the tree-fingers began to loosen and the sky became bright again overhead. But, by the time I got to the tree line I was a mess. What the hell had I done? What the hell had just happened? Where had I gone to, and where was the hole, and where was my dog?
I crumpled to my knees in the steel-cold daylight and the rain mingled with my tears.
By the time I arrived back at the house, the tears were gone but my red eyes remained. Rose came down the steps to greet me, and noticed them immediately.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“He’s . . . gone.”
“Who’s gone?”
I was in a daze and realised I couldn’t explain it.
“Buddy . . . he got loose.”
I held up the partial dog leash and she took it from me.
“Where did he go?” she said.
Visions of the clearing flashed in my mind.
“Down in the forest . . . I don’t know where . . .”
She stroked the severed tip with her finger.
“It looks like it’s been cut,” she said.
In my mind’s eye: Buddy’s eyes, and claws, and mud, and behind him, the hole, swallowing everything.
“He’s gone,” I breathed.
“He’s off the lead all the time,” she said. “He’s probably right behind you.”
I stared a thousand-yard stare and the tears returned. She leaned in to me.
“It’s okay. I’ll grab my coat and we’ll go find him. He’s probably right behind you.”
She left me, silent, on the stoop, and returned moments later with her winter coat.
“Come on,” she said, and took my arm.
We started back along the path saying nothing as we walked. Rose called for the dog optimistically, and I played along. We soon breached the edge of the forest and once more the sky grew imperceptibly darker.
As I walked, I saw traces of my last journey; my steps and missteps.
“Rose!” I called.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t go in here.”
“Why?”
“It’s getting darker, it’s hard to see . . . Maybe we go back?”
“I can see just fine,” she said, with a frown.
But in my mind I carried the darkness of the hole. I moved to her and grabbed her arm, stopping her.
“Rose!” I lowered my tone emphatically. “Maybe we should go back?”
“What’s going on?” she said.
“We’re not going to find him.”
Her eyes scanned mine.
“How do you know?”
Around us, the wind hissed.
“I don’t think we’re going to find him,” I said. “I think he’s gone. That’s all.”
“So, that’s it? You’re giving up?”
“I’m not giving up.”
“It sounds like you’re giving up. Why won’t you look for him?”
“I’m not giving up. I just know.”
“What do you know?”
“I just have a feeling.”
Somewhere nearby, a large branch snapped, tearing under its own weight, and crashing to the forest floor in a misty plume of wet leaves.
“What do you know?” she asked again. “What do you feel? If you’re not giving up, then tell me.”
I opened my mouth but no words came out. A cold haze washed over her.
“Typical,” she said. “Why would you tell me anything about what you feel . . . ?”
She turned and moved quickly away down the path, calling out for the dog.
Stunned, I was momentarily frozen. I moved quickly after her, the hole’s darkness growing inside me.
“Hey!” I shouted ahead. “Hey!”
She didn’t stop, and didn’t reply. We both pushed forward deeper into the tangle of branches.
“I tell you how I feel all the time!” I said. “And this is what you do—run away!”
“I’m not running away!” she said, not stopping. “I’m finding our dog!”
“It’s no good! He’s gone!”
“Well, I’m not giving up! If you want to give up, fine. Turn back and I’ll find him myself!”
She cried out to the dog.
“I’m not giving up, and I’m not turning back.”
“Just do it. Give up on him like you want to give up on us!”
She stopped. I stopped.
“I’m not—” I began, but couldn’t find a way to continue.
She spun to face me.
“Do not lie to me!”
I glared at her.
“Do not accuse me! I’ve had to put up with their shit all weekend, I’m not going to take more from you!”
“They’re our friends!”
“They’re your friends. Not that you’d know it. The way that they treat you . . . You just disappear when you’re around them. I put up with them because you say they’re your friends, but now, I just want you.”
She advanced toward me.
“I’m always me! Just, and only me! But you always seem intent on stirring up drama, with the wrong opinion at the wrong time, and then sulking about it in the car afterwards. Sulking, and quiet, and giving up, just like you are now.”
Backing away, a sharp thorn grazed my arm and I recoiled. All became silent except for the chatter of leaves and the patter of rain in muddied puddles. Only now did I notice that we had arrived at the fork in the path.
I looked at her, and in her eyes I saw the hole—dark, and deep and alive and churning with pungent, acidic desire.
“He went down that way,” I said, indicating the path down to the left.
She looked down the left-hand path, and the thorn bushes seemed to be growing and shifting before our eyes. Moments later I emerged into the clearing. Rose had already seen the hole, and was motionless, staring into its core. It was even more captivating this time.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied, which was true enough.
“Was it here before?”
I didn’t reply and she turned to look at me. I looked at her and she blinked as if fighting off a fatigue.
“Where are we?” she said. “I don’t remember ever coming to this place . . .”
She looked around the clearing in a daze, searching her mind for some kind of geography, some kind of landmark, but in this place the geometry of reality didn’t conform. Her attention now turned back to the hole. Her eyes traced its ragged edge and I swear the roots reached out like tentacles and were crawling with shiny insects.
“My eyes won’t focus,” she said, dreamily.
I stepped beside her.
“Did Buddy come here?”
I nodded.
“It seems to know me,” she said, as her eyes fell once again upon the middle of the blackness.
“Buddy . . . went in there.”
She looked at me, horrified.
“In?”
She looked back to the hole, probably searching for the dog.
“I think maybe you’re right,” I said.
“Right?”
She was transfixed.
“Maybe . . . I do need to give you up.”
My hand found her shoulder, and her head turned ever-so-slightly in acknowledgement. Around us, the trees wailed, and my hand lovingly found the small of her back. Her shoulders dropped as if a weight had been lifted.
“It feels like . . . maybe everything is going to be okay,” she said, breathlessly.
I closed my eyes and drew a long, slow breath. The blackness of the hole burned, and the roots flexed. As I released the breath I found my resolve, and in one quick movement my right foot went back supporting my weight, and a gentle push against Rose’s back was enough for her to lose her footing. She twitched, and her arm clutched at mine, reflexively. I threw my arm out to shake her off and her boot slipped from underneath her. She lost her grip and flopped hard onto the muddy grass, her hip striking a particularly toothy rock, and her legs dangling into the darkness of the hole.
She yelped in pain, flailed, and tried to get to her feet. I could only stare with wide eyes. Both of her legs below the knees no longer existed, swallowed by the hole.
Her eyes found mine—wide, confused, horrified.
“Help me!” she whimpered.
But instead, my boot found her shoulder and I kicked hard. The slippery roots writhed and slithered and gave little friction and she slid deeper into the hole, disappearing up to the waist. She grabbed at my ankle, pulling and screaming, but I could tell there really was no pain. In fact, I knew that for her there would be no pain as I helped her to fall all the way into the hole. The darker than dark core quickly consumed her torso, and then her head, and soon all that remained was a curious disembodied forearm, with fingers somehow still firmly clamped around my ankle. It took some strength to pry the fingers loose, and I did find myself gazing at it curiously for a moment—a hand that I had held so many times before—and then it too was gone, tossed into the darkness.
I stood next to the hole for some time, trying to see into the gloom. I knew that she was in there, but I couldn’t see her, and I couldn’t feel her. I closed my eyes and felt my burden go, too.
After some time for goodbyes, I left the clearing. The clouds had dissipated, and the sky was now a blue-black of ten thousand stars. I stood outside the house in the twilight. From inside those two couldn’t see me, but I could see them, existing in the warm orange-yellow glow.
I stood for a very long time, feeling numb, like I didn’t know what to do next even though on some deep level I had already decided. I held a hand up, and the light from the windows cast a shadow across my face. In that darkness I felt the hole’s darkness, and I realised I had brought it with me. It was on me, and within me. It seems that if you go to that place too much, or if you look into it too deeply, from then on a part of it goes with you, even out here, even this far, and maybe there wasn’t a distance far enough to be rid of it.
My dog, and my Rose were both lost to the hole, and there was no way I could return to my previous life without them. There would be too many questions, and those two in there in particular would want answers. There was no escaping that.
But that was okay, because just then I got a feeling that told me that everything is going to be okay. And so it had been decided.
As I mounted the front steps, determination swelled within me and by the time I had reached the front door the story in my mind felt almost real—as if it was something that was actually true.
With urgency, and energy, I pushed the door open and rushed inside. I needed their help, I explained. Rose and Buddy had both fallen into a hole, and were out there, somewhere, in the dark.
I was right—those two did have questions. But, it wasn’t too difficult to slip past them with an earnest-seeming “We need to hurry”, and a worried-sounding “Grab your things.”
Mr pulled on his coat and boots in the foyer while Mrs went down the hall to the bedroom to grab who-knows-what from her bag.
“Don’t worry,” I was able to reassure Him. “I remember exactly where it is. It’s just off one of the walking tracks in the trees,” I told Him, and we grabbed a rope and flashlight from the toolshed.
Moments later, She joined us and we began the journey back. They couldn’t feel the hole pulling, but I could. All around us insects sang, and the moon was so bright and clear that I saw that we actually had shadows beneath our feet—shadows which were darker than dark. It was then that I realised that those two were carrying a little bit of the darkness, too. Probably, everyone does.
Once we reached the trees, the shadows really began to creep and crawl, slithering up the ragged, gnarled, scratchy tree bark and up into the tips of the tree-fingers as if they could pluck the stars from the sky and clench the moon in a fist.
The cold whistled and a dizzying sickness swirled around us, but I was the only one who recognised it. Mrs stopped short and His flashlight found her face.
“What is it?” said He, in an I-felt-it-too tone.
“Are we sure about this?” said She. “It’s so dark. We should wait for help.”
“It’s not that far,” I said. “We can get there easily.”
So He said, “Let’s check it out. We’ll see what we need to do.”
And so, we pushed on, even as the nature began to thicken unnaturally, and I know those two couldn’t tell if that sound was the pitter-patter of the last rain on leaves, or the pitter-patter of tiny legs scurrying all around us, but I knew.
“Is this right?” She said. “It’s so overgrown. It doesn’t seem like anyone comes this way.”
“It’s not far,” I said, in my best reassuring tone, because they seemed to like that.
In the gloom there was a flurried blur of movement and sound. Mr swung the flashlight, and a pair of eyes shone back at us for a split second before they were gone again in a kick of hooves and swishing scrub.
He turned the flashlight back to the path because those two didn’t know the way.
And how could they? They’ve never been to this place before, but I have, and so I know much better than the pair of them. Heck, I’m the only one of us that can still see my footprints in the cold, crusting mudholes, becoming more defined, and becoming harder and more permanent. Those two need a light to see, but my eyes have already been adjusted. I can see just fine, but I can tell that they’re blind because I know that the shadows are everywhere his flashlight isn’t pointed. Honestly, it’s hilarious that they can’t see that they’re just a couple of blind fools stumbling forward, blindly and foolishly.
And because of that, I laughed at them. I laughed out loud at them. I laughed so much and so gleefully that I had to stop, and, of course, they stopped too.
“What’s going on?”
“What’s so funny?”
I let go of my laughter with a deep breath, grinning.
“Look around you,” I said.
They do.
“You really can’t see it, can you?”
“See . . . what?”
“You really can’t see where you are, can you? You really can’t see what this is?”
“I can’t see anything in here,” said He.
“Yeah. You, with your diplomas . . . and you, with your Dutch Modern furniture . . . out here, you’re both blind.”
“Look, I don’t—”
“Is this some kind of joke?” said Mrs, and then she said to Him, “He’s laughing at us.”
“Where is Rose?” Mr said. “Is she even out here?”
“Yeah, she’s out here,” I said, looking at my feet. “She’s in the hole. They’re both in the hole.”
But She wasn’t buying it.
“It’s a joke or something,” she said. “He’s fucking with us! She’s in a fucking hole?”
His hands twitched on the rope.
“Look . . . It’s cold. It’s late,” He said. “Let’s help Rose and then let’s get out of here.”
“He’s just messing with us!” she said. “This is what he does, but I just . . . this is the worst you’ve ever done.”
I snapped back.
“That!” I said. “That is why you’re out here!”
“Where are they?” said He. “If they’re out here, if this is real, then where are they? Where is the hole?”
The mention of the hole made me smile and I drew a slow breath, like smelling fresh baked bread. My mind’s eye sizzled with dreamlike flashes of twisting, turning pathways.
“Up ahead there is a fork in the path. The hole is down to the left.”
And off they went.
“Rose?”
“Rose!”
They both parted the foliage and entered the clearing, and in the moonlight there it was. Its beautiful blackness grabbed them instantly, like I knew it would. I swear it grinned a rock-toothed grin.
“What is it?” She said.
They both approached the hole cautiously and He flashed the light uselessly into the void.
“It’s so dark . . . I can’t see anything,” He said.
“Rose?” She peered over the lip of the hole. “Why isn’t she answering?”
“She’s in there,” I offered. “They’re both definitely in there.”
She moved closer to the hole and I watched the ragged roots wriggle and writhe beneath her shoes.
“Be careful of the roots,” He said.
“Yes, be careful,” I mumbled.
The laughter burned inside of me.
He took her shoulder, encouraging her away from the edge, and began to uncoil the rope.
“How deep do you think it goes?”
I knew that in truth it went so very deep, but I kept that to myself.
“You can see the bottom,” I said.
He held his light out, making so much foolish effort, but he just couldn’t see.
“Rose!?”
“Rose, everything is going to be okay!”
I gestured for the flashlight.
“Here, I’ll show you.”
I knew he wasn’t convinced but he handed it over anyway. I stood over him and shone the light into the hole.
“See? Down there?”
He leaned in.
“What? Where?”
“There, you don’t see?”
I shone the light into the hole, and he really was trying hard to see what was down there.
“Move closer,” I coaxed. “It’s right there.”
His hands gripped the roots and he did so.
“This is stupid, I can’t see anything.”
“Closer . . .” I urged.
“I can’t . . . I can’t get a grip.”
Sweat was beading on his brow.
“Closer . . .”
His knuckles were white. His eyes strained. He craned out as far as he dared.
“That’s it,” I said. “I think that’s close enough!”
In an instant my arm whipped down, and the head of the flashlight struck the crown of his head; his foolish head, filled with so much smarts, and yet he wasn’t smart enough to anticipate that I was going to whack him good, and whack him with such force that the glass would shatter and the light would go dead. But I did whack him, and his body slumped down, and his foolish head slipped inside the blackest part of the hole and he lay limp and still.
Quickly, She was on top of me, kicking me aside and I fell back onto the damp grass, laughing. She called his name and scrambled to take hold of his trouser legs. Then she was pulling at him, but the hole didn’t want to let him go that easily, so she had to really pull. With a good, grand yank Mr slid back out of the hole’s muddy mouth—well, all of him with the exception of his foolish head.
It took her a moment to take in exactly what she was seeing, and I have to admit, it did for me, too. She had to lean in real close, and get right up next to him to be able to see that while his shoulders were there for her to grab and shake, somehow there was no neck poking out from his shirt collar—not to mention: no head—and he wasn’t going to respond to her shaking.
Soon she was panting with a mixture of horror and helplessness and resignation at what this situation was, and her panting soon transformed into sobbing and whimpering. Then, finally, a rage sparked inside of her. She rose to her feet and spun to face me. Now, the full inferno of that rage was aimed in my direction.
“What did you do?!” She shrieked, and the trees around us howled.
She stepped toward me, but something wasn’t right. Her ankle didn’t feel right. That was because, while she had been tending to him, she had been so distracted that in spite of all the smarts in her foolish head, she hadn’t felt me slip the rope around her ankle in a tight little noose. She looked down at it, and even as she did that calculation, I still had plenty of time to toss the loose end of the rope over the branch of a tree, so I was already pulling it tight by the time she ran at me. And trust me, she didn’t know what to think when she understood she couldn’t get any closer to me without the rope lifting her ankle into the air, and the more I pulled, the higher her leg got until her one loose foot finally lost its grip, and all that she could do was to claw at the grass, and try and get a hold of something to stop what was happening to her. And I’m not saying it was easy to pull her off her feet—no, not by any stretch—but I did it, and soon she swung out over the hole, and was dangling there like a little piggy. In the pale moonlight, the moist roots and shimmering soil almost looked like saliva, and that hole looked like it had just licked its lips like a starving dog.
“No! Nooo!” the piggy squealed.
My arms strained against her weight, and the branch of the tree creaked and shivered as she twitched and squirmed. For some reason I held on, hesitated, as if maybe there might be some going back, or rewinding, or reversing what had been done, but how could I? I don’t know what happens down in that hole, but I know that’s it. That’s the end. There’s no coming back from down there.
The darkness swirled, and the trees surged around me, and it was as if time slowed down. I felt my grip slacken—at first only slightly, and then more, and more, until there was more slackness than grip, and the rope slipped through my fingers and her cry ended abruptly as she free-fell into the hole, with the length of the rope trailing behind her, zipping across the branch and whipping into the abyss.
Suddenly, the night was silent. But in the silence the hole was still hungry, and I have to admit, it was satisfying, yet somewhat unceremonious the way that I just ambled over to where Mr Headless had fallen, and with nudges of my boot fed him to the hole, bite by bite.
Now, maybe it was just the wind, but in the silence after the hole swallowed him up, I swear that the tree-fingers all came to life and danced. And again, maybe it was just the wind, but I swear there came a sound from that place like the roar of a frenzied crowd after the final touchdown.
And so it was all over. I backtracked my way out of that place. Past the fork in the path, past the thorn bushes, past the fallen branch, past the dense foliage and past the perimeter of the tree line.
The house was empty, quiet, cold. The fire had long since burned out, but there were embers of a sunrise glowing behind the treetops.
Yep, it was all over . . .
Well, it was all over until there was a knock at the door, because, it would seem that apparently a woman calling from this house had used the bedroom phone to report a missing woman and a missing dog, and here was a police officer following up on that report.
“Thank God you’re here,” I told the officer. “I’ve been worried sick. My Rose, and my dog, and my friends, all fell into a hole.”