The Hole Read Free

the passenger seat, sat as close to the door as he could, and rolled down the window. If anything, the smell was worse inside the truck, and even lighting a cigarette of his own didn’t help matters. He breathed through his mouth. It helped some, but not much. He was grateful he hadn’t managed to eat any breakfast, for it would surely have made another appearance by now.
    The old man didn’t seem to notice. He put the truck in gear, an action that made the old box creak and grind. The muffler let out two loud bangs, and the truck finally wheezed into life and crept away from the trailer. The vehicle didn’t have many more miles left in it.
    Much like me , Fred thought, then smacked himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand. He was spending too much time locked in his head. Maybe this jaunt with Charlie was just what was needed to take his mind off things.
    If Charlie saw Fred’s frustration, he didn’t mention it.
    “Some news, huh?” the old man said as they drove through the trailer park.
    “Ain’t seen any yet,” Fred replied, intent on keeping any chat to a minimum until he could get out into the fresh air. “What’s up?”
    “Just half the town coming down sick, that’s what’s up,” Charlie replied, and laughed, a high whiny thing like a hyena in pain. “Headaches and nosebleeds. Even had a touch of it myself just after midnight, but a couple of slugs of Jack put paid to it quick enough. Ain’t a headache in the world that Jack can’t shift.”
    “Amen to that,” Fred replied, and wished, not for the last time that morning, that he’d stayed in his trailer and tested that hypothesis.
    * * *
    Fall was almost over. The trees lining the highway had lost the vibrant red and oranges from their foliage and had settled for dirty brown scraps that fluttered and fell like dying birds in the slight breeze. The sky hung over them like a piece of blue porcelain, and the wind coming through the open window was bracing, to say the least. But as the old truck gained speed, Charlie’s body odor seemed to dispel, and Fred even started to enjoy the ride.
    Unfortunately, they weren’t going far.
    Not nearly far enough.
    Hopman’s Hollow was little more than a boggy pond a mile out on the eastern edge of town, just off the main highway. Or rather, it had been when Fred last passed it a week before. Since then it had taken on pretensions of being a small lake, having grown to three times its previous size. It now covered an area nearly the size of a football field, and the murky water lapped up close to the road.
    As they got closer still, Fred saw that a small offshoot from the main body of water had undermined a patch of John Hopman’s land at the rear of his house. Fred’s heart sank as he saw the exposed septic tank, its contents clearly oozing from a rupture at the rear end into the new expanse of pond below it. The tank itself, a cylinder some eight feet long and four feet in diameter, hung precariously over the new shoreline.
    More shit shoveling.
    John Hopman stood on his lawn, arms crossed, staring grimly at the enlarged hollow. He acknowledged their presence with a nod as they parked at the end of his drive.
    “Think you can do something, Charlie?” the landowner said.
    The landowner had a drop of fresh blood under his left nostril, but Fred knew better than to mention it. There was little sense in further riling a man who was clearly in a foul mood. Besides, the Hopmans weren’t known for their goodwill and hospitality. The family had been the richest folks in town for over a century now; most land, biggest house, and loudest voice in any decisions made by the town council. They were feared and hated in equal measure, but never loved, and Fred had always tried to keep his dealings with them to a minimum. He was surprised that Charlie had brought them here in the first place, for the old man had, on many occasions, made his feelings about the first family perfectly clear.
    Parasites, leeches