The Sinkhole

A Short Story Written by Scarlett Stratten and Mark Slade

Genres: Contemporary Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Horror, Supernatural

When Charlie begs his father to check out a strange hole behind their house, the last thing either of them expects is something real—something unnatural—lurking beneath their backyard. As steam rises and clicking echoes from the depths, their quiet life begins to unravel into something far more surreal.

I was out behind the shed watering the tomatoes and the eggplant when I heard Charlie calling for me.

“Dad! Dad! Come quick!”

Well, I didn’t go there quick. I didn’t even move. I was tired. Dog tired, actually, after working at the plant all day spray painting the doors to Dodge trucks and then off to work at the feed and seed store at 4pm and just got home a half hour ago at 7:45…I was done running for people.

Charlie came running to the garden screaming: “Dad! There’s a hole in the ground! Like in the movies! The ground is moving! The ground is moving!”

I swiveled around slowly to face him, the water hose blasting the plants, the lawn chair, and finally Charlie. He laughed as he tried to defend himself from the spraying water, yelling for me to cut it out. I dropped the hose and asked him what was so important he had to interrupt the only enjoyment I get the entire day.

His response: “The earth might swallow all of us up!”

I blinked.

“Including your mother?”

“Dad! Yeah!”

“Even Gosomer?” He was our Blue tick hound who had little patience for squirrels, passing cars and generally anyone walking up the drive, including me.

“I said everybody, damn it!” Charlie immediately looked down at the ground and apologized.

“Alright,” I said, removing my hands from my waist. “I’ll look at your moving earth, Charlie Cole, if it will humor you.”

“Dad,” Charlie said with a scoff added at the end. “I wish you’d stop saying if it will humor me, usually when I’m serious nothing will make me laugh.”

Huh. I had to smile at that. Barely twelve and the boy already has his mother’s biting wit.

“Okay, okay. Where’s the hole.”

Right there om

On the side of our two story rancher by the oil can that doesn’t provide oil for the heat anymore, was a sinkhole forming. That was odd. A sinkhole in Virginia? Maybe out in California, or even in Iowa, but I’ve never heard of a sinkhole here on the east coast.

Charlie pointed a short baby fat skinned index finger to hole about ten by twelve and from the distance we were standing was about eight feet deep. The rubble and red clay dirt had steam rising from the yellowish brown cylinder.

“How about that!” I exclaimed.

“I told you,” Charlie sang in a falsetto voice that creaked every other word. I always smile at that, the realization my boy was becoming a man.

“You sure did,” my hand clasped on his robust shoulder. “You sure did.”

We walked over to the hole and crouched. We looked in and saw that it was a lot deeper than I originally thought.

“Good grief,” I said.

“Wow……Dad, could we go to China through this hole?”

I gave him an incredulous look. “You pullin’ my leg, Charlie?”

He just laughed, rocked back and forth.

Then we heard clicking sounds.

We glared at each other.

The clicking noise sounded far away as it echoed in the hole. A faint pine smell mixed with ammonia rose to my nostrils. I flinched, covering my nose with a hand. Charlie mimicked my actions.