Where Darkness Dwells (2 page)

Jimmy gained some ground on him, snapping twigs and cussing at the tearing undergrowth. As George's mind drifted to his morning chores--making Ellie's breakfast, making sure she brushed her teeth, and the cord of wood needing splitting--the sounds ahead disappeared. George suddenly felt alone, as if a rift in the earth had opened up and swallowed Jimmy, leaving him in the middle of God knows, not knowing the way home from his own elbow. He quickened his pace, still mindful of the grasping branches, the twisting roots.

When he broke through an opening in the undergrowth, he found Jimmy's legs kicking out behind him, his top half buried in the ground. If George weren't so scared, he would've found the discovery quite comical, but right now humor was the last thing on his mind. He ran to Jimmy, grabbed his thrashing feet, and pulled hard.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jimmy cried out.

George let go, embarrassed. "Your legs were shaking. I thought you were in some kind of trouble."
Thought something dragged you off
, George wanted to say, but held his tongue.

Field grass filled the entryway as Jimmy stood. If George hadn't watched Jimmy pull free from the hole, he wouldn't have given the grassy berm a second look.

"I think this is it." Even in the dark, George could see his beaming smile.

"That hole there?"

"It opens up after a few feet. I tossed a rock down a ways, and it just kept going. Sounds pretty deep."

"Are we going in?" George asked, his confidence fleeting with the passing seconds. He hoped Jimmy would change his mind. Not even thinking about impressing Betty Harris lent him much courage.

"Of course we are. We've got a legend to slay. We'll be heroes."

"Right. Heroes. The two of us."

White Bane. The words prickled George's spine. A two hundred pound albino catfish trolling a vast underground lake. The lake was real enough. It had given the local miners constant fits before the Grendal Coal Company pulled stakes. Decades ago, George's distant cousin died in a flooded shaft. A handful of miners drowned when an ill-placed TNT bundle breached the wall of the underground lake. The men died a half mile down, no one near enough to hear their all-too-brief screams.

Greta would speak about White Bane in her quiet, raspy voice, warning about a beast that ate children who went wandering where they shouldn't. As old as the hills, the catfish had long white whiskers and pink, unwavering eyes. White Bane could smell fear, would be brought to frenzy by it, leaping ashore to snatch at children with its jaws, or whipping them with its powerful tail. Either way, the result was the same. You weren't going home.

George was about to put his foot down by suggesting they wait until it was light out to take on this particular adventure. But crazy Jimmy Fowler had already thrown his tackle inside and was shimmying into the mouth of the hole. His torso disappeared, then his legs. With a grunt, Jimmy kicked off with his heel against a jutting rock, then was gone.

"Hand me your tackle." Jimmy's filthy hand snaked from the hole, his fingers grasping for George's tackle box.

"Sure, hold on." George lowered his fishing tackle to Jimmy's waiting hand.

"How about the gun?"

"I think I'll hold on to it." They both owned .22 rifles, having hunted small game since they could remember. But the over/under was a special weapon. It could do a heck of a lot more damage than any old .22. If he was going to get a whooping for taking the gun, then he was sure as hell going to carry it the whole time. His dad had been drinking for a week straight and wouldn't even notice he had snuck out, but if he did wake up to see his precious gun missing…

"Fine." Jimmy's hand disappeared, mild disappointment in his voice. "Coming?"

"Right behind you." George strained getting inside while carrying the gun and the lantern. Crawling through the opening, he left behind the night's gloaming, entering an entirely different darkness. As his legs entered the hole, the damp, earthen walls felt like they were closing in to crush his body. He hurried forward, hand over hand, struggling with the gun in the narrow tunnel. Losing his balance, he fell over a ledge, tumbling down a short slope. After coming to an abrupt halt, he braced himself to stand, his hand pressing against Jimmy's shoe.

"That sure was graceful. You oughta be a ballerina."

"Shut up." George looked back through the tunnel to the nighttime sky. He couldn't see much when he was outside, but inside the cave, he was as near to blind as he'd ever want to be.

Their voices were different. As was the air. It was impenetrable, consuming quiet sounds, while amplifying anything louder than their hushed voices. Their breathing disappeared; their footsteps sounded like a Roman legion. George, certain he would soon scream draped in the darkness of the cave, turned the lantern's breathe valve until its glow washed over the far-reaching limestone walls. He took it as a good sign that the lantern survived the fall.

The lamp pushed back the darkness, but didn't reveal the entire cave. He swung the light in a small arc near his knees. Water had dripped away pockets, eating limestone layers one drip at a time. Everything was damp, seeping with wetness, shining with cave slime and mud.

They were quiet, shuffling their feet, trying to figure out what to do next. There seemed to be a zigzagging trail, just wide enough to walk down, winding away from the opening.

"We'll be out of fuel in no time with that lamp turned up." While Jimmy sounded angry, his face showed his relief.

"You want me to turn it down again?"

"I suppose not. Not since you got it lit and all."

Jimmy, hesitant for one of the few times George could remember, tentatively headed down the trail. "Smells wet. I bet the lake's not far away." Jimmy made sure George was close by and following.

Spider webs as broad as bed sheets blocked a niche off to the right. After seeing a spider's measured movements, George swung the lantern in front of him again. A chill swept over him as he hurried next to Jimmy.

"Looks like the walls are crying." Jimmy trailed a finger along the porous wall. Mineral deposits stained the trickling water a reddish hue. To George, it looked more like blood than tears.

"Dead end," George said after they had walked for a time. The area seemed to have suffered a cave in. Boulders and rubble sealed the shaft.

"Can't be." Jimmy, not willing to give up the adventure when it had only begun, hunted the shadows for another way. George stood right where he was without moving, not wanting to touch or see anything unsavory. At this point, he'd be happy enough just to turn around and go home.

"Hey, swing the light this way," Jimmy said.

On his knees at the apparent dead end, Jimmy craned his head under a teetering rock. Near the floor, concealed by tumbled-over debris, the cavern picked up again under the rubble, sloping at an even steeper grade into the earth.

"That doesn't look right."
Doesn't look one bit safe
, he thought.

"The shaft gets bigger." His earlier reluctance was gone. He once again bustled with excitement. "Listen… that water is louder. Sounds like a falls to me."

Jimmy had a point. It might not be a waterfall, but it sounded like a heavier flow than the trickle they'd seen so far. "All right. You first."

George crouched low, holding the lantern inside the opening, lighting the way as Jimmy crawled ahead. "Kinda slick. The floor's covered in moss. And it stinks like cowshit." Jimmy didn't seem fazed at all.

"Great. Can't wait." George followed his friend, followed him when he had a feeling he shouldn't. It was the story of their friendship.

The damp moss soaked their clothes. With the steepness of the shaft, it was a minor miracle they reached a plateau without slipping the whole way down. Once again on level ground, the limestone ceiling was high enough to stand without hunching. The shaft opened into an extensive alcove. The twisting path led them to a body of water with a surface so smooth and dark it could've been a pane of cobalt glass.

"Shit," George whispered, his breath stolen by the sight.

Water fell from high up near the ceiling--so high the lantern only hinted at the source--to a limestone spillway. The slab, as big as a church altar, dispersed the falling water. When it dribbled into the lake, it barely dimpled the surface.

"This has got to be it. Shit is right. Let's drop our lines." Jimmy approached the water and set down his tackle. He yanked the barbed hook from the pole's cork handle, and with the line already carrying a tied-off bobber, flipped his wrist and the bobber went flying.

"You haven't baited your hook." George approached the water with caution. While he didn't truly believe Greta's stories, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"I know. Just want to see how deep it is. You can tell by the sound when it hits the water." The hook and bobber had made a thick, thoomping splash. The water was deep. Cranking the reel to pull in the line, the metal gears sounded incredibly loud. "Get me some bread. I guess that'll have to do. Wish we'd had time to dig night crawlers."

George took the hunk of bread from his tackle box and broke off two pieces. They baited their hooks and cast their lines in opposite directions, not wanting to tangle in the near-dark.

They sat side by side, the lantern lit and warm between them. They had no luck for quite a while, and the more time went by without any sign of White Bane, the more George felt at ease. It was a foolish story, anyway. A catfish lunging from the water in order to prey on kids? Just an old story to make sure kids didn't explore the abandoned coalmines marring the Illinois prairie. He imagined every coal town had a similar tale.

"Don't matter if we catch him, I'm going to ask out Betty Harris regardless." George didn't take his eyes from his line. He dipped the pole, dancing the bobber on the cold black surface. His voice softened, becoming sheepish, "Then I'm going to marry her. Well, some day."

"Good for you. She's a nice girl. Tit's are a little big, more like a cow's than a girl's, but hey, whatever you like you like, right?"

"Jackass."

"I'm just kidding. I'm happy for you. Just think about what you're doing before you do it," Jimmy said. The humor had left his voice. "That's all I gotta say."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means I'm thinking about enlisting in the Army. My mom might have to sign something, but I'm strong for my size. They should take me, even though I ain't eighteen."

"What the hell're you getting at?" George was shocked, unable to figure why someone would enlist. Especially someone whose dad had died not long after coming home from the European trenches, his lungs just about liquefied from mustard gas.

"I gotta be a man. Make a living for myself."

"That's not what we planned." Their plans went back many years. George would take over the farm from his dad and buy the vacant land next to their fallow plot. Jimmy would work his acreage with his brother Jacob; together, with their mom, they'd make a go of it.

"Yeah. Things change." Jimmy stared at his fishing line. George hadn't bothered casting again after pulling in his line. This was serious news. What about picnics with their future wives and future kids? Sitting on the porch as old men, sipping hard cider and swapping familiar stories?

"What about Louise?"

Jimmy opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then clamped it shut.

"Jimmy?"

"That's the problem. I think I might be a father soon."

"Christ… really?"

"Yeah," Jimmy said, staring at the water. Eyes widening, he pointed to something cutting through the water. "Shit, what's that?"

George jumped to his feet and reached for his tackle box, ready to tear tail out of there. Then the fish changed directions and he realized just how small it was. It might've been a bluegill, a crappie at most. Nothing dangerous. Neither fantastic nor mythical. "That's a pan fish, dingy."

"I knew that. Really I did." Jimmy sighed with relief. Both seemed to want the adventure of searching for White Bane, but nothing of the actual confrontation. "I thought you were going to push me in front of you, let that big, scary pan fish get me instead of you."

"I would have, too. Don't you doubt it for a second." They laughed.

George swung his tackle box around as he reached to pick-up his pole again. In the process, he knocked the lantern over, sending it cracked and broken into the underground lake.