In the quaint town of Little Egypt, Southern Illinois, the year 1904 held a peculiar fascination for the unknown. The townsfolk, a hardy breed of farmers and miners, had long whispered about the forest at the edge of town, where the trees grew too close and the night too silent. It was in this forest that the Hole was found, a gaping maw in the earth that seemed to stretch into the very bowels of the world.
The Hole, as it came to be known, drew the townspeople like moths to a flame. It was as if the earth had opened up to reveal the secrets of the universe, and they were the chosen few to bear witness. The first to find it was Old Man Jenkins, the local apothecary, who claimed he heard singing from the depths. Then came the children, who threw stones into its abyss, counting the seconds before they heard the faintest echo of a splash, if at all.
As days turned to weeks, the Hole became an obsession. The blacksmith, Mr. O’Malley, fashioned a ladder that disappeared into the darkness, but no one dared descend. The pastor preached of hellfire and brimstone, saying the Hole was a test of faith, a doorway to perdition. Yet, his sermons only fueled the town’s curiosity.
It wasn’t long before the madness set in. The butcher, a stout man named Hawthorne, began speaking in tongues, claiming he could hear the whispers of the Hole in his dreams. Miss Abigail, the schoolteacher, started drawing spirals on the chalkboard, her eyes wide with a feverish gleam. The children sang nursery rhymes about the Hole, their games turning sinister as they danced ever closer to its edge.
The Hole was a living thing, or so it seemed, breathing in their fears and exhaling a dark allure. It promised answers, it promised power, it promised an end to the mundanity of their lives. And one by one, they succumbed to its call.
Little Egypt was never the same. The crops withered, the mines collapsed, and the forest grew ever more oppressive. The Hole was a blight, a curse, and yet, it was their curse. They were bound to it, as it was bound to them, in a twisted dance of fate and folly.
And so the tale of Little Egypt lives on, a cautionary whisper on the wind, a story told in hushed tones to those who would listen. For in the heart of Southern Illinois, there lies a Hole that does not end, and a madness that does not die.
*This piece is a work of fiction by Willy Martinez, inspired by the styles of Franz Kafka, and William Burroughs, and is intended for Mind on Fire Books only.*
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