The Dark Place: Hell on Earth, #1

PROLOGUE

IT HAD WAITED IN THE dark, festering in the bowels of the earth for longer than mankind had inhabited the world. For thousands of years, it had waited, roots growing deeper, stretching out into the soft earth, probing and pushing as it spread like a vast tumour. For centuries it had lain in wait, feeding on the weak, fleshy things on the surface, soaking up their uncertainties, their aggression, their anger, their fear. The weakness of the world had made it strong, and the Great War was to begin.  Centuries of patience were about to be rewarded, the negative energy it had consumed from countless wars, robberies, divorces, deaths, diseases, worries, frustrations and every other trait which made mankind the weak, fragile species it was had been fed upon to make it grow into something beyond the colour of night.

The time had come. It started to push towards the surface.

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS THAT MAGIC TIME when night gives way to the first hues of a new day. Chestnut Avenue was, and always had been a picture postcard image of suburban Americana, with its white picket fences and tidy gardens, the tight-knit community was the definition of upper middle class. Usually, the street would be alive with children playing stickball or riding bikes as parents cooked delicious foods on the barbeque or maintained their lawns and gardens, sipping drinks under the glorious sunshine as birds sang their songs to each other from opposite sides of the tree lined streets. At this hour, though, Chestnut Avenue was cold and silent. The children were still sleeping and warm in their beds, parents likewise. Even the birds were yet to wake the world. At night, the street had a different feel.

A vibration broke the silence. It wasn’t loud enough to wake the residents, but the birds felt it. A sparrow took flight, a single distressed chirp punctuating the stillness of the coming dawn. The asphalt in the centre of the street sank, the earth falling away as the vibrations increased. A ginger tom cat returning after a night prowling paused by a driveway, watching the ever deepening hole until it reached the edges of the street. Steel groaned as water pipes buckled and collapsed, startling the cat and sending it on its way as the displaced earth fell into the circular sinkhole. Triggered by the vibrations, a car alarm started its repetitive song and was soon joined by others in the immediate vicinity of the sinkhole. Unused to such disturbances, one by one, bedroom lights illuminated along the street as its residents came to see what the commotion was, none of them aware that they had been woken from the last peaceful night’s sleep any of them would ever have again.

II

‘There’s still no water,’ Jasmine Pettinger said, turning the tap for effect as she looked over her shoulder at her husband, Jim. He grunted a noncommittal response as he browsed his Facebook account for the tenth time in the last five minutes.

‘Jim, are you listening to me?’

‘What do you want me to do, Jas? The water company are on their way. All we can do now is wait.’

Jasmine tried the tap again anyway and when that didn’t work, she stared out of the kitchen window. The hole was up the street by number seventeen, meaning she couldn’t see it from their kitchen, but there were already people milling around in the street, put out by this most unusual disturbance.

‘Will you stop fretting and come and eat breakfast?’ Jim snapped, putting his phone on the table. She joined him, pouring a bowl of cereal. They had been married for twelve years and the relationship, although not in any danger of ending for good, was strained. There was no underlying reason for it other than they had drifted apart and wanted different things. Jasmine sat at the table and looked at Jim, wondering where the man she had fallen in love with had gone. In the last few years, he had aged with frightening speed, his hair thinning to the point where he would soon have to start shaving his head completely. The handsome man she had fallen in love with when she was working as a waitress had become a dour and grumpy middle-aged man who communicated in grunts. Even his eyes, although still brilliant blue, had lost their sparkle. ‘You need a shave,’ she said, nodding to his thick stubble.

‘Give me a break, it’s the weekend.’

‘It’s been like that for weeks. You know I hate facial hair.’

‘Then don’t grow any.’

She knew he had intended it as a joke, but he had said it more times than she cared to remember, and like his other lame attempts at humour, it wasn’t funny.

He waited for a response then frowned and picked up his phone. ‘Suit yourself,’ he grunted as he returned to the online world he was so obsessed with.  Jasmine sipped her coffee, wondering if he thought the same way she did. For all the criticism, she knew she wasn’t without her flaws. Since her waitressing days she had gained weight. She knew it was a problem, and that food had replaced cigarettes when she had fallen pregnant with Adam. Although Jim ate the same things as her, his metabolism kept him slim and wiry, something which she resented him for.  She wondered if he was as disappointed with how their life had turned out as she was.

‘What do you think caused it? The sinkhole, I mean.’ She asked, hoping to change her negative train of thought.

Jim didn’t take his eyes off the phone display as he answered. ‘They happen more often than you think. Usually underground pockets of air that give way and cause a collapse. No big deal and nothing to worry about.’

‘It’s made a mess of the street.’

‘It’s just a hole in the ground. A deep one, granted, and the pipes are a mess but at least the water is flowing into the hole instead of flooding the street.’

‘That’s something I suppose,’ she said, glancing over to the window. ‘Do you think they will have it fixed before tonight? Adam will need his bath.’

‘Doubt it,’ he mumbled, only half tuned into what she was saying. He was typing on his phone, no doubt commenting on something one of his friends had written. ‘As I said, it must be deep.’

‘What makes you think so?’

He didn’t answer, his thumb dancing over the keypad.

‘Jim?’

He glanced at her, frowning at being disturbed. ‘What?’

‘I asked you why you were sure it was deep.’

He shrugged, eyes going back to the phone. ‘Just a guess. When I went out this morning I couldn’t hear the water from the broken pipes land on anything. That tells me it’s deep enough.’

‘Oh,’ she said, wondering why it made her feel so uncomfortable. ‘I better go wake Adam.’

‘Let him sleep. No need to wake him over this.’

She nodded, knowing Jim was right. She couldn’t tell him she wanted to wake their son so she could keep an eye on him and to know where he was. Deciding to go against Jim, who was too lost in his phone to care, she made her way upstairs to wake her son.

III

Adam’s room was that of a typical eight year old boy. Toys littered the floor, the ones she told him daily to tidy up. Usually, the pale blue décor was bright and vibrant, but in the diffused sunlight which tried with little success to penetrate the curtains it had taken on a murky foreboding feel. She stood by his bed, watching him sleep. He had his father’s build and her features. Button nose and sandy hair which needed a trim. She worried about his future in a world determined to self-destruct and wondered if he would enjoy a life of peace or one of fear thanks to the ever frequent terrorist attacks the world over. The thought of him existing in such a violent, cruel world brought a wave of emotion which she hadn’t expected. She swallowed it and gently shook him awake.

‘Adam? Come on, baby, it’s time to wake up.’

Adam opened his eyes, confusion etched onto his delicate features. ‘Am I late for school?’ he mumbled.

Jasmine couldn’t help but smile. ‘No, honey, you’re not late. It’s the weekend. No school today.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, sitting upright in bed.

‘Get up and I’ll make breakfast.’

‘Can I have eggs?’

‘’Not today, baby. The water isn’t working right now.’

‘Okay, I’ll just feed Greenie then I’ll come downstairs.’

Jasmine looked at the heated tank containing the red-kneed tarantula and grimaced. ‘Wait until I’m gone then. You know I hate those things.’

‘Greenie won’t hurt you.’

‘I’ll take your word for it, honey. Hurry up and come get your breakfast.’

Jasmine kissed her son on the head left the room, closing the door behind her. Adam got out of bed and walked to the spider tank then picked up the plastic container of live crickets from beside it. Greenie only ate once or twice a week, and Adam always looked forward to feeding her. He slid the lid of the tank aside, then opened the plastic container where he kept Greenie’s food and removed a cricket, which wriggled in protest against the steel tweezers. Adam dropped the cricket onto the bark floor of the spider’s home. He repeated the process, dropping the second cricket into the tank, then pulled the lid closed. He knelt by the side of the tank, nose inches from the glass. He knew Greenie made her home under the log in the rear corner of the tank. He watched as the two crickets explored their new surroundings, unaware of the fate that awaited them. One of them was heading away from the danger and skirting the edge of the glass towards the opposite corner. The second cricket, however, was heading straight towards Greenie’s lair. Adam wiped the glass where his breath was fogging it, not wanting to miss the moment she struck. He tried to see her in the dark place under the log, but he couldn’t find her. He watched as the cricket considered changing direction, then walked back towards the danger. It happened quickly. The red kneed spider lurched out of the space beneath the overturned log, pouncing and sinking it’s fangs into the cricket which twitched before it was rendered immobile by the venom.

‘Adam, come on. Breakfast is ready.’ His mother shouted from downstairs.

‘Coming,’ he replied, still not taking his eyes off the feast taking place in the tank. Greenie retreated with her prize, taking it into the dark place under the log. Adam turned his attention to the other cricket, which was in the other corner and for now, safe.  Adam stood, still staring at the glass, then sensing his mother was due to call him again, went downstairs to eat.

CHAPTER TWO

BRIAN EMBRY ROLLED out of bed and tried to piece together the fuzzy, jigsaw mess of the alcohol fuelled binge of the previous night. He stumbled to the bathroom, glancing in the mirror above the sink, noting that the signs of what he was sure would be a killer hangover were present and correct: the sunken eyes, the pale, waxy complexion, and the splitting headache which raged and bounced behind his eyes and made him shy from the hazy morning half-light. The five day beard growth and unkempt hair made the self-assessment complete. He felt as good as he looked, and he looked like shit.  

Embry opened the cabinet, popped the lid of the aspirin and dry swallowed a couple of pills, then shuffled back to the bedroom, curious to see what the noise outside was about. He pulled the curtains open, wincing as the obtrusive golden light of the day further aggravated his headache. Embry sighed and leaned on the window frame, resting his forehead against the cool glass as he watched his neighbours’ mill around on the street.

‘Holy shit,’ he muttered as he stared at the sinkhole which stretched the full width of the road in front of his house. Further down the street, he could see two vans from the water company, their yellow beacons making silent rotations as the two high visibility jacket wearing operatives worked to shut off the flow of water. Embry turned his attention back to the neighbours as he willed the throbbing in his skull to fade. Some were residents, people he recognised as someone he might nod to as he passed in the street. There was the old man from number fifty-three who was always mowing his lawn. Embry didn’t know his name and didn’t particularly care. Directly across the street, he could see the Jones woman sipping from a steaming coffee cup and talking on her mobile phone, mouth in overdrive as she discussed the drama going on in the street.  Embry grimaced, noting that the hole stretched right up to the edge of his lawn. As overgrown as his garden was, he didn’t want to see it disappear into oblivion. He grabbed the frayed pack of cigarettes and his lighter from the end table, popped one in his mouth and flicked open the lighter, igniting the Pall Mall, dragging the toxic concoction of chemicals into his lungs before letting it billow out of his nostrils, the smoke temporarily blocking his view of the street. Embry thought there was no greater pleasure than the first cigarette of the day A few doors down from Mr Lawnmower, he saw the Pettinger woman and her kid standing on the lawn. She had her arms crossed over his chest as, like everyone else she stared at the hole where the street used to be. Embry