The Thing In The Mine Read online

  He had just began cursing the fact that he would have to fumble around in the dark with the lock while keeping the cap light steady, when he noticed something that made him stop in mid curse. The Master Pro Series combination lock used to secure the length of chain was lying on the ground in front of the door. Charlie leaned over for a closer look and gasped out loud when he saw that the lock had been twisted in the middle and pulled apart from the interior locking pins.

  What the f—?

  He stared at the mangled lock for a long time, unblinking, his mouth slung open in abject disbelief. A million dust motes, some as black and shiny as freshly poured tar, performed slow motion somersaults within the conical beam of the cap light. Cicadas struck up a lively tune somewhere in the undergrowth beyond the perimeter of the mine. On a distant peak, a pair of Great Horned owls hooted out an echo distorted dialogue, no doubt discussing the balmy weather and the inanity of the funny little man far below sweating through his dusty overalls.

  Charlie didn’t hear any of it. All he could hear was his ragged breathing as he eased open the door to the equipment room. It was dark inside, but he could see the log sheet on a clipboard hanging just inside the door where he’d left it on his last check of the room. His light found the first page and he read, “twelve twenty-three, twelve friggin’ twenty-three. I know I checked it. And I know I locked that damn lock.”

  He recalled having to adjust the compensator valve by three psi and the gravity dripper had needed a little tweaking , but otherwise, the equipment had seemed to be in good working order. At least he thought it was. One thing he did know for sure was the fact that, after he had finished filling out the log sheet, he had wound the chain around the double-door handles, clicked the lock shut and spun the dial at least four times, as was his usual habit. “That sumbitch’ was locked,” he said, alarmed by the tenuous tone of his voice echoing off the block walls of the structure.

  Cautiously, he stepped deeper into the room and aimed his light toward the Cummins 685 horsepower diesel motor that turned the main backup generator. The big workhorse looked normal enough: other than the fact that the shittn’ thing ain’t runnin’, Charlie thought glumly. Tilting his head, he let the beam of light from the cap sweep over the generator control panel a few feet to the right of the diesel. Several rows of toggle switches, rectangular lights with multi-colored plastic covers, and a combination of analog and digital gauges made up the basic layout of the stainless steel panel. One particular switch held Charlie’s rapt attention. A toggle switch on the lower right-hand corner of the panel marked ON/OFF, was in the OFF position.

  Charlie Waddell wasn’t an easily frightened man, not by a long shot, but when he saw the generator switch in the OFF position, something that could be loosely described as fear began scratching at a hollow place in the pit of his stomach. The acrid taste of mustard and processed meat rumbled up his esophagus to the back of his throat and, for a moment, he thought he might puke up his lunch right there on the concrete floor.

  Charlie half expected the Cummins diesel to blow up in his face when he thumbed the toggle switch, but to his delight, the four-cylinder beast rumbled grudgingly to life. Multi-colored lights winked on and the rpm gauge on the control panel spun up to near two grand. When a little green light marked, READY, winked on, Charlie flicked another switch that activated the generator clutch drive bringing limited electrical power on line. Instantly, harsh fluorescent light projected from sodium vapor bulbs attached to the ceiling flooded the room.

  Puzzled, yet relieved that he could now see better, Charlie turned off the switch to the cap light and placed it and the battery pack on top of the control panel. As he looked around the room, his attention was drawn to several strange scuff marks embedded in the coal grunge sheathing the floor in front of the diesel motor. “Hey, what in the hell’s goin’ on here?” he said, his eyes probing the corners of the equipment room. The brilliant light from the overhead fixture touched every nook and cranny of the place, so it was obvious to Charlie that there was no way anyone could be hiding somewhere beyond the generator compartment. The only other items in the room were two strategically placed fire extinguishers, a wall mounted binder containing OSHA and MSHA safety forms, and the clipboard containing the log sheet.

  Tiny beads of sweat began oozing from the pores above Charlie’s receding hairline. As if to remind him that he had been on his feet too long, his left leg began throbbing in cadence with his quickening pulse. It had been quite warm out on the gravel lot that night, but the equipment room felt like the inside of a convection oven. The stale, sultry air was thick with humidity and swirling with tiny bits of powdered coal and pulverized rock dust. Charlie was finding it hard to catch his breath and he figured if he didn’t get out of that room soon he would surely smother to death.

  He made one more, half-hearted check of the control panel and hurried out of the room pulling the heavy doors closed behind him. The Cummins diesel was cranking out enough amps to power up all the perimeter lighting, as well as the caged sodium vapor bulbs over the office doors, the entrance to the bathhouse and the door to the equipment room. Most of the heavy machinery lots and the one-story red brick building housing the admin offices were still shrouded in thick darkness, however, a fact that caused Charlie no small degree of unease.

  He looked down at the damaged lock and shuddered despite the warmness of the night. “You don’t bust up a Master lock like that,” he mumbled, surprised by the shrill tone of his voice. The grating finger of fear in Charlie’s gut scratched a little deeper and he sucked in a deep breath in hopes of calming his mounting concern. Feeling close to panic, he picked up the broken lock and turned it over a couple of times hoping to discover that he had been mistaken about its condition. But no, it was definitely broken; twisted like a pretzel actually, the water proof cover peeled away from the metal body as if it had been tissue paper.

  Troubled, he turned in a slow circle, eyeballing every corner of the mine property not hidden by shadow. There wasn’t a thing that looked out of place, if you didn’t count the broken lock and sabotaged generator motor that is. Still, Charlie felt as if he was on the verge of losing all control over his emotions. It only served to panic him even more when he caught a glimpse of something moving through the pool of shadows flanking the northern fence line. His eyes followed the strange object as it glided toward the new mine shaft elevator containment cage.

  Stunned, he let the lock slip from his hand and a corner of the formidable lock landed on the big toe of his left foot. Although he was wearing heavy shoes, the impact sent a bolt of pain shooting through his foot and ankle. He began crow-hopping in tiny circles, cursing under his breath as he rubbed his foot through the leather of his shoe.

  When the pain was at least manageable, Charlie sat down on the ground and leaned back against the equipment building to catch his breath and to think. He’d never been accused of being an overly intelligent man, but he had enough sense to know that the lock didn’t damage itself and the generator motor hadn’t turned itself off. The way he saw it, someone had paid a clandestine visit to the equipment room sometime between 12:23. and 3:12 a.m. And judging by the condition of the mangled lock, they must have had the biggest pair of bolt cutters known to man.

  The question of why kept coming to his mind. Why would someone what to kill the main electrical feed to the mine, which he knew was the only way to completely power down the property, and then break into the backup generator room and turn off the drive motor as well? It didn’t make any sense.

  Maybe they’re aimin’ to steal somethin’.

  There was probably six to eight hundred thousand dollars worth of mechanical and electronic equipment on the mine property. Most of it was permanently installed in one fashion or another, and what rolling stock there was above ground was so uniquely specified for mining work, that Charlie figured a thief would have a hard time selling or pawning any of it.

  Still, the Caterpillar earthmovers and Mack coal haulers
would fetch a pretty penny on the black market. But Charlie knew that equipment mechanics pulled the batteries from the units after the last shift of the week to prevent idle time from draining the charges.

  There were some computers in the admin building, all network linked, as well as a few printers and Fax machines, but Charlie doubted anyone would be desperate enough to chance going to prison to bother stealing them. The mechanics all locked their toolboxes, and the welders and machinists were known to religiously stow their equipment when not in use to prevent rust and dust contamination. It just didn’t make sense that anyone would go through all the trouble of traveling out in the boonies to try to steal something they probably couldn’t easily move or sell anyway.

  In all the time Charlie had been the night watchman at Logan number 12, he hadn’t had the least bit of trouble with thieves or trespassers. Word got out quickly when some tweaker, itching to fund the next fix, wandered onto a mine property in search of hand tools or copper wiring to steal. They were usually so strung out and ineffective that the night watchman would, more times than not, thwart their attempt at larceny before they even made it through the perimeter fence. Consequently, it was well known among the criminal element that there was more risk than reward to be had when targeting a coal mine for possible illegal monetary gain, a fact that made jobs like Charlie’s all the more boring and uneventful. Until now.

  As he stared at the confluence of shadow where he’d last seen a shimmering blob of light, Charlie found himself wondering if he was imagining some of the things that had happened to him in the last couple of hours. Things didn’t feel right; they didn’t look right or smell right either. Halfway up a towering mountain behind the mine, a blue jay screeched at something hidden in the dark underbrush of the forest. Crickets, grasshoppers and cicadas cheeped, and chirped and rustled from secret hiding places in the walls and underneath bits of shale and limestone rock. Miles below the mine property where the Monongahela River snaked between the mountain peaks, the plaintive wail of a train whistle muted by distance and the lush green foliage of a million trees echoed softly on the tentative breeze.

  Charlie barely noticed any of it. Someone, or something, was slinking around the property in the vicinity of the new mine shaft and that meant that he was ultimately responsible to do something about it.

  With no small degree of discomfort, he staggered to his feet and headed across the gravel lot toward the elevator suspended above the newly dug mine shaft. He had a fleeting idea to first stop by the Straw Boss’s office to get Joe Calicino’s Ruger .22 Magnum revolver. While snooping around one night, Charlie had found the pistol hidden in a King Edward’s cigar box in the back of a desk drawer. Some of the night crew guys had said Joe got a kick out of plinking tin cans and rousting out ground squirrels whenever the coal haulers were running late or when the day shift were taking their time riding a shuttle car back from the coal face for shift change. “Better not,” he convinced himself. “Ole’ Joe’d have my ass if he found out I even know about the thing.”

  So he pressed on toward the elevator, grimacing with each step as his foot crunched down on the thick gravel. He was within ten yards of the shaft when he heard the elevator winch motor suddenly hum to life. He stopped in mid step, tottering on the uneven ground. His bad leg bowed under the weight of his body and for a second or two, he thought he was going to pitch face forward into the coarse alluvium scattered around the lot. As he struggled to regain his balance, he heard the winch motor rev up toward maximum rpm and the pulley stops beginning to spin on the release cam.

  It seemed for all intents and purposes that someone was summoning the elevator car.

  Charlie managed to steady himself and take a few steps backward toward the equipment room. The palms of his hands had gone clammy and sweaty and a nervous tick had begun to pull at the corner of his right eye. His pulse had quickened appreciably and gooseflesh dimpled the areas along the base of his skull and down his neck to his chest. He suddenly felt an overpowering urge to urinate.

  When the hydraulic clutch on the lift motor engaged, it did so with a bang and a shudder. The Baldor electric motor cranked out the required amperage, a trio of cam followers groaned and clattered as they rolled into position and the elevator car began a slow, steady decent into the dark maw of the newly dug mine shaft. Charlie watched in rapt wonder as the greasy strands of wire rope supporting the elevator car calmly protracted into the dark rectangle of the shaft.

  He stood that way for quite some time, contemplating whether he should go get Joe Calicino’s pistol, or just march right over there and find out what the hell was going on! The fact that he was scared was obvious, but the way he saw it, if he was to live up to the title of night watchman, he’d best get his ass over there and do a little watchin’.

  He forced his feet to begin moving again. At this point, his mounting anger outweighed his palpable apprehension. He began muttering to himself in hopes that verbalizing his feelings would somehow bolster his commitment to find out what was going on in the mine shaft.

  “First they cut power to the mine, then they break in the equipment room and turn off the dern backup juice. Then they think they can help their selves to a joy ride in a company elevator. That’s bullshit, that’s what that is. That dog won’t hunt. Not with ole’ Charlie Waddell it won’t!”

  He approached the metal wire cage encircling the shaft, giving cautious deference to the lift gate at the front of the structure. He figured if someone with ill intentions was down there in that elevator car waiting for him to stick his head in the wrong place, he’d just as soon disappoint them by staying as far away from the entry gate as possible, at least until he had a better idea what he was dealing with.

  His eyes went to the two buttons on the elevator control switch. He couldn’t help but wonder who had pressed the DOWN button to put the elevator into motion.

  Someone, probably one of the electricians, had attached a temporary halogen bulb to a 2X4 and bolted it to a crossbeam on top of the elevator cage. The single bulb threw an angular swath of dingy light into the depths of the mine shaft, giving the narrow opening an ominous, foreboding appearance.

  Charlie had no way of knowing how deep the shaft was. The word was that both crews had been drilling and pinning the sides for at least a week. There was no telling how deep they had dug, or how far into the base of the mountain they had cut. Traditionally, when the decision was made to extend the mining operation into a different area of the mountains, a shaft was drilled to fifty or sixty feet, shored up with pins and braces, and widened at the bottom to accommodate the excavation equipment that would soon be deployed. Then a graduated rail system would join up with the initial shaft, the cut would be extended, and coal production would begin in earnest and continue practically nonstop until the new coal seam was depleted.

  Not that any of that mattered to Charlie Waddell, though. At that moment, the only thing he was concerned about was trying to figure out who was in control of that shittin’ elevator.

  Taking a calming breath, he leaned forward and peered through the wire diamonds of the elevator cage. Something was happening down there in the darkness. He could hear a voice, at least he thought it was a voice, drifting upward from somewhere beyond the perimeter of the weak rectangle of light. The volume of the voice intensified, chattering on the updraft in a fervent whisper, calling Charlie’s name in a tone that could not be identified as either masculine or feminine, or young or old, or even human for that matter.

  Charlie pressed his forehead against the wire mesh of the cage, straining to see through the oily darkness below. His fear morphed into anger and he finally found his voice. “Who’s down there! Who the hell’s down there? This here’s private property you know!”

  The echo of his words bounced along the walls of the shaft and dissipated into the depths of the impenetrable darkness. For a moment Charlie held his breath, listening to the sound of his own voice diminish into the depths of the shaft. A thick, expectant sil
ence ensued as Charlie strained to hear anything beyond his own labored breathing. He waited thirty seconds and yelled, “I mean it pal, I’ll call the damn law! You’re trespassing on private property. You hear me!”

  Suddenly, the elevator motor hummed to life, the support cables stiffened, vibrated, and lurched upward as the elevator car began a slow, controlled ascent toward the top of the containment cage.

  Charlie’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched the top of the lift car climb out of the cellar of darkness, squeezing out the anemic light from the shaft as it ascended. The car rose to the top of the wire enclosure and stopped abruptly when a micro-switch made contact with a small metal plate mounted to the top of the enclosure. The hydraulics disengaged, the motor spun down to idle and the lift gate swung open with a loud, metallic clang that made Charlie nearly jump out of his skin.

  Brilliant light suddenly assailed Charlie’s eyeballs and he held a hand up in front of his face to block the glare. A strange, luminous blob of light rolled from the elevator cage and slid silently toward Charlie. Cowering against the side of the containment cage, he watched the billowy, undulating cloud of color and light advance toward him as soundlessly and ethereally as a wisp of smoke. Although it made no sound, all sorts of strange things were happening within the ill-defined center if its mass. Multi-colored lights winked on and off in rapid succession, bursts of energy like lightning strikes shook the core of the thing. It had no eyes that Charlie could see, nor did it appear to have arms or legs. It did have a mouth however, and Charlie realized that he had never seen anything as grotesque and frightening as that gaping maw filled with ragged yellow teeth the size of baseball bats. Tendrils of blood-red coils danced and twirled like a rotating prism in the thing’s center as it reached out an unseen finger and touched Charlie’s mind.

  The last thing he remembered was an incredibly cold tongue of something indescribably evil licking over the essence of his soul.