Coogan tapped on the window signaling the driver to get back into the Cadillac. Soon the three headed away from the mine.
Chapter 27
Just before dusk, a pickup truck pulled up to the mine property slowly making its way up toward the plateau. A sign stenciled on the side door read ‘David Ferguson Contracting’. All of the activity of the day was over; the many cars, onlookers, police and reporters had long since left the area, leaving the site deserted.
As the driver’s door opened, David Ferguson stepped out onto the access road. He had a pad and carpenter’s pencil in the pocket of his flannel shirt and a tape measure attached to the side of his belt. He stopped for a moment looking at the foreboding mine entrance as a cool breeze blew sending a chill through the man, making him shiver involuntarily.
He reached his right hand down unconsciously touching the flap of a leather sheath attached to his belt holding his buck-hunting knife. He didn’t know if he would come in contact with any mountain cat or bear and had no idea if his knife would even do him one bit of good, but none the less it made him feel better just to know it was there. He reached into the cab of the truck and withdrew his twelve-gage shotgun, knowing that one could never be too careful.
Ferguson made his way up to the mine entrance. He leaned his shotgun against one of the side timbers, took out his tape measure stretching it across the top-most timber of the mine. Next, he took out his note pad and pencil, drawing a rough sketch, adding his measurements.
This went on for a while, when strangely, the hair on the back of his neck started tingling as another chill shot down his spine. “Must be the heebie jeebies,” Ferguson said aloud to himself. “A place like this is bound to give a fella the hebbie jeebies for sure. I best take my measurements and be on my way.” David had managed to do the remainder of his measurements while staying a good two feet away from the broken door and mine opening. He was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable.
As he wrote down the last crucial measurement, David turned to pick up his shotgun, all the while studying his notepad, making sure he did not miss any critical dimensions, when he heard a familiar voice calling out his name.
“David?” the voice beckoned.
He stopped in mid turn, not taking his eyes off the sketch and waiting a second or two to make sure he actually had heard what he had thought he had heard. He knew he couldn’t have, because as sure as he was living and breathing the voice he had imagined was the lovely voice of his beloved dead wife, Mary.
This sort of thing still happened to him from time to time since her passing. It was not a big deal. It was just one of those things that happened. He always knew it wasn’t really her but that it was just a memory from the past of her calling is name. Since he had lived with her for so many years, and she had called his name countless times, Ferguson believed it was normal for his mind to hear her call him, like whenever the house was quiet. He believed this was what he was experiencing now.
Many times during the past six months, when this happened, he found that if he just stopped whatever it was that he was doing for a few moments and waited for the call to come again, it never would. Then he would be reassured that it was just his memory playing tricks on him once again.
It never frightened him or made him feel strange. On the contrary, he welcomed these moments. He loved his late wife with all his heart. She was the one true love of his life. The hesitation and waiting for the imagined call to come again was not with the hopes that it would not come, but with the hopes that someday maybe it would. Of course, he knew it never would, and it never did. .. until today.
“David?” the voice said again.
“What was this?” he thought to himself. He surprisingly did not feel happy to hear the voice of his darling wife for the second time. He felt very uneasy. Ferguson slowly raised his head from his notepad looking around the plateau. The sun was setting in the distance; the light on the utility pole had turned on casting its eerie amber glow over the area. As he looked westward toward the utility pole the air caught in his throat as his heart skipped a beat.
Standing at the base of the utility pole apparently as alive as ever was his lovely Mary. She stood smiling at him, her arms outstretched, wearing the same beautiful white dress that she had been buried in. “David.” She said again. “I love you and miss you, David.”
Ferguson stood staring in awe at the sight before him, speechless, his eyes brimming with tears. Part of him knew that this was impossible, but the loneliest part of his aching soul needed to believe that somehow it might be real. He took two unsteady steps toward her, away from the mine entrance. He tried to say her name, but no words would come. The best he could do was to utter “Ma..ma..ma”
Tears of joy streamed freely down his face. He smiled at his lovely, dead wife trying to find some rationale that would allow it all to be true and not some misguided fantasy. Was he losing his mind? He did not know and he did not care. This was Mary, his Mary. Somehow, she had come back to him. If this was insanity; if this was madness; then he welcomed it with open arms.
Mary took a step toward Ferguson. Perhaps a step was not quite correct. She seemed to float on a cushion of air. She was smiling with such ethereal beauty that he could barely control the pounding of his heart. He felt as if his heart would burst from his chest, and he didn’t care. If death is what it took to be with his Mary then so be it. He took another step toward his loving wife.
Just as his heart seemed as though it would explode he noticed that the image of his wife was starting to change. Her beautiful eyes were losing their sparkling luster, the pallor of her skin was transforming to an ashen gray.
David stopped in his tracks. Something was very wrong. This could not be his beautiful wife. This was not his Mary. The vision was changing while moving ever closer to him. He took a step backward away from the looming vision and toward the mine.
Inside the mine, just behind the shattered door, the hulking demon waited in the darkness, sitting hunched in the shadows concentrating hard to keep the fantasy image going just a little while longer, long enough to get the foolish man to back up into the mine entrance. The beast had learned that it could read the minds of humans who were close by. It could discover their innermost fears, loves, wants and desires, then the beast could play tricks with their minds, to get what it wanted; to get what it needed.
The Mary thing continued to float ever closer toward Ferguson, his heart pounding so severely that he believed he might be having a massive heart attack. The Mary apparition’s lips had thinned, turned black and curled back into a sneer, its eyes covering over with a dull grey film, its flesh withering and oozing with festering sores.
One such pustule appeared on the forehead above the thing’s eye and burst open spewing a yellow-green puss, which oozed down the mottled skin into the filmy eye below. The thing’s fingers were sprouting long brownish, blackish yellow fingernails, which split open at the ends, the fingers wiggling slowly as if anxiously trying to grab for Ferguson. Maggots and worms crawled between the fingers. These rotting extremities were reaching out to him, reaching out FOR him.
Ferguson took another step backward, even closer to the mine. Inside the mine the creature waited patiently, knowing that in just two or three more steps this Ferguson man would be his.
Maggots started to emerge from the festering soars on the Mary thing’s skin as patches of gray flesh started to slough off its body, revealing white bone protruding from where the skin had once been. The creature’s left eye fell from its socket dangling by its muscles on her cheek as a patch of skin on the forehead above the eye slid down hanging in a flap revealing the white of the skull. Still, the Mary thing continued to advance closer.
Ferguson thought to himself, “How could this be?” What manor of insanity was this?” He wiped the tears from his cheeks unconsciously. Without thinking Ferguson was about to take another step back away from the horror unfolding before his eyes. The massive beast approached the open entra
nce to the mine ready to spring his trap and pull Ferguson into its Hellhole.
“Honk, honk, honk”
Ferguson was shocked into reality by the blaring of a car horn. He took two stumble steps forward and shook his head rapidly. What had happened to him? Where was he? What was going on? The last thing he could recall was double-checking his dimensions on his sketch of the mine opening. Now he was standing here staring into space. And what was that he heard? Was he was being shouted at by someone?
“What the Hell do you think you are doing up there?” A voice shouted from down the access road.
The beast inside the mine was furious with frustration as it ran back down into the depths of the mine. For a brief second Ferguson thought he heard something behind him, but in his confusion he just stood and tried to get his bearings. He looked over toward the light pole. He felt a cold sweat run down his back and was strangely afraid for some reason but could not remember why.
“What?... What...” he said.
“I said what the Hell do you think you are doing up there?” The voice repeated.
Ferguson looked down at his truck and noticed that a car had pulled up behind it. There was a man standing next to the car with one of his arms inside of the passenger window blowing the horn while shouting up to him. What was he saying? What did he want? As Ferguson started to regain his awareness, he noticed that the man shouting was John McHale, assistant to Bill Coogan. What was he shouting about?
McHale left his car and stormed up the access road past Ferguson’s truck and toward the mine. “What’s going on up here?” he demanded. “What are you doing here? This is private property!” Still a bit foggy Ferguson stood numbly with his notepad in his hand. McHale ripped the notepad from Ferguson’s hand and looked at the dimensioned sketch he had drawn.
“This looks like you are preparing to build a new door and framework for the mine,” McHale demanded, “I didn’t hire you to do this. And I am damned sure that Mr. Coogan did not hire you. So who the Hell did? What’s wrong with you, Ferguson? Are you deaf? Answer me immediately.”
As if awakening from a dream, Ferguson stammered for a moment saying, “Chief … Chief Seiler …asked me… to come up here…. and take … take some measurements for a new door ….to … to…. keep trespassers out.”
“Chief Seiler?” McHale shouted, “What right does that fool Seiler have to ask you to trespass on Mr. Coogan’s private property and potentially vandalize his mine?”
Ferguson said, “He... he was worried about the safety of the local residents.” Then he started to regain his awareness and argued, “And … and …for your information, McHale…. this is still a crime scene. You will notice that Chief Seiler has not removed the crime scene tape. He has not released this property back to Bill Coogan.”
“Released or not released, there is no way you will put anything over that mine opening without the expressed consent of Mr. Coogan, which I should point out you will never receive,” McHale announced.
“Well, maybe we won’t need any consent from Coogan.” Ferguson continued, “Based on the tragic events of last evening, I am certain the town council will pass a resolution declaring this mine a safety hazard and demanding that it be properly secured.”
McHale pointed out sarcastically, “My oh my, how convenient is that? You run the town council, you get them to declare this site a safety hazard, and you get to overcharge to build a new secure door. And no doubt the town council will expect Mr. Coogan to pay for it. It sounds to me like the fox is in charge of the hen house around here.”
“I suspect you would know all about that, McHale”, Ferguson countered, “Your boss man has his hands in everyone’s pockets in the county. But, for your information, not that it is any of your damn business; I am not charging a penny in labor to build this. This is a charity job for me. I just don’t want any more kids to end up like Jimmy McKinley did last night, is all.”
“Well, aren’t you the good Samaritan. But, you needn’t worry about that, Ferguson. After tonight, that wildcat, bear, or whatever it is won’t be bothering anyone anymore. I will see to that! Now be so kind as to take your shotgun, your notepad and get your ass off this property,” McHale demanded. Then without another word he turned on his heels, stomped down to his car, climbed in and backed off the property so that Ferguson could back his truck out.
Ferguson made a point of taking his time walking down to his truck and putting his shotgun back into the cab. Then he slowly climbed inside and started his engine. He sat for a moment staring up at the mine. He could remember nothing of what had happened, but had a weird feeling that he might have been very close to being in a lot of trouble up there. Why did he feel that way? He looked over at the light pole again as another involuntary shudder ran down his body. Cold beads of sweat formed at the back of his neck. What was that about? Then he was once again, startled back to reality by the impatient honking of McHale urging him from behind.
Ferguson drove off the property, ignoring McHale as he passed. McHale pulled his car up closer to the mine where Ferguson had parked sitting inside waiting for Bill Coogan to arrive.
Chapter 28
A short while later Coogan arrived in his white Cadillac, pulling up behind John McHale’s car where the assistant stood, waiting. The evening was rapidly becoming very cool. John wore a hunting vest over a long sleeve flannel shirt.
When McHale saw the Cadillac pull up he went to the back door of his car, opened it taking out a large semi-automatic hunting rifle. He shoved several spare clips of ammunition into his vest pockets.
Bill Coogan lumbered out of the driver side of the Cadillac walking slowly toward McHale who inquired, “No driver tonight, boss? Flying solo?”
Coogan replied, “Yes. Well, I thought it would be best if you and I kept this little hunting expedition to ourselves… at least for now… the less that know of our activities the better.”
“Speaking of which”, McHale said, “When I got here, that idiot handyman Dave Ferguson was here taking all kinds of measurements. I discovered that he was measuring for a new secure door for the mine.”
“A what?” Coogan demanded. “A new door? I never commissioned any new door. What the Hell was that all about? …No, wait a minute. Let me guess… Seiler…. It was Seiler’s doing, wasn’t it?”
McHale said, “Yep. Ferguson said that this was a crime scene and that not only had Seiler not released the property back to you, but that he had requested that Ferguson build a new door to keep kids out of the mine. He also mentioned that he was going to get the town council to declare the mine a safety hazard and demand that the door be installed, so that you could do nothing to interfere.”
“The fools!” Coogan shouted, “They think they are so all mighty and powerful. They have no idea what true power is. Not to worry, McHale. Let them play their games. I have the legal power to crush them like bugs. But we both know there will be no need for such actions anyway. By tomorrow morning we will be local heroes, the animal will be dead, we will be on the front page of the Times standing over our kill, and no one will care one iota about this mine anymore.”
Then Coogan looked down at the semi-automatic hunting rifle that McHale was carrying saying, “It appears that you certainly came prepared for just about anything. It looks like you might be ready to take on the devil himself; no pun intended.”
McHale said, “Well if this thing really is a bear, I want to make damn sure that if I hit him and only succeed in pissing him off, that I have plenty of more shots available to bring him down.”
“Good thinking,” Coogan agreed. “So, have you brought adequate lighting as well?”
McHale replied, “Yep. This is where you can help. I want to be ready to start firing as soon as I see something, so I would greatly appreciate it if you could also carry one of the flashlights and shine it in front of us as we move down through the mine. See I have one strapped to the barrel of my rifle.”
“Yes, yes good thinking again,” Coogan agre
ed.
“Thanks.” McHale suggested, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I assume it is still going to be a mess in there; with lots of busted and broken timbers from the last cave in. If this thing is a mountain lion or wildcat it might be hiding behind some rubble or in a safe area formed by fallen timbers. We are also going to have to be careful of weak spots in the mine. It would be ironic if we ended up trapped under timber and get eaten by what we are supposed to be hunting.”
“Yes…. ironic indeed,” Coogan said with some noticeable concern.
“I wish we could have made a few preliminary trips into the mine before all of this happened so that we knew what to expect structurally. No one’s been down there since the 1920’s is that correct?” McHale inquired.
“Yes, that’s correct,” Coogan reassured, “All the information we have is from old mine maps that my grandfather made. We were just getting ready to start sending some folks down inside to assess the damage when all of this nonsense happened and almost blew my plans out of the water. I assume things may look a bit different and perhaps a lot more chaotic down there since the mine was blown up by Crazy Willie’s father such a long time ago.”
McHale said, “I guess craziness must run rampant in that family. So, how far down is the actual scene of the … collapse? Fifty feet? One hundred? Any idea?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Coogan said with concern. “No one does. That is why the next step in our plan was to start sending down exploratory teams to assess the true cost of reopening the mine and weighing that cost against potential profits. But I suspect based on written records that the original collapse of 1885 was about a mile down and the damage caused by that lunatic Willie in the 1920’s was probably much higher up the main gangway.”
McHale then asked, “What about mine gas? Is there any chance of carbon monoxide or other poisonous gas in the mine?”
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