The Hole

It was about a year ago that I found the hole, I reckon.

You fancy book-learnin types all came in here telling me about how the hole needs to be studied and how it don’t “follow any standard rules of physics” and I had to deal with chasing them darn robed hooligans away from it. Claiming their death-god or some such were down there plotting the end times or some such nonsense. Now, I read the Bible, sir, and I can tell you that there ain’t no thing about some death god causing the end, only Jesus is capable of that.

All I really know is that the hole is on MY property, and as such is mine to do with as I see fit.

And let me tell you, that there hole is the best dumping ground for my house’s trash what ever I seen.

You see, my household has been accumulating a lot of garbage as of late. What with two teenaged children running about. You know they don’t go fixin nothing, they just throw it away. So we end up with bags and bags of the stuff. And with the house being so far out here in the country, the closest town done up and started charging us for trash removal. So, when that there hole opened up behind the house a ways, it was like my prayers had been answered.

Sure, whenever I get close to it, the endless moaning of the damned from down below can get the nerves all riled up, and the fountain of blood that starts a-spurtin out of the hole every time I put something in it was a bit of a nuisance until I started bringing an umbrella with me whenever I threw things out, but it’s a better deal than the alternative.

Y’see, I had to start using the hole for my family’s trash once the dang city council went and decided we lived too far out from town and would have to start paying for trash pickup. A whole extra three cents a year. DAMN HIGHWAY ROBBERY if you ask me.

We may be having soul-crushing nightmares every night where we learn the exact moment we’ll die; and yeah, there’s a disembodied voice chanting with sounds no human mouth can make along the path to the hole; and sure, Martha-May is slowly growing too big for her room, turning into a pile of flesh made entirely of feet and mouths, but our family has proven to be frugal. A valuable lesson in this economy.

So you can tell Mr. Mayor if he wants to send more people like you out to see my hole, he can pay his own damn three cents.