This is a peculiar story that I though you’d enjoy…

by Leland Neville

When Barbara sees the large hole in the middle of her small backyard she knows it is the beginning of the end. Sinkholes can be deadly. The Discovery Channel recently aired an informative and worrisome two hour special on the phenomena. “Sinkholes: Myths and Facts” showed actual footage of houses being sucked into ravenous voids. People were buried alive. She can still hear the desperate and quivering voices calling 911. Sinkholes have an appetite for old women like Barbara.

She closes the bedroom window blinds and negotiates the journey down the stairs and through the kitchen with extreme caution. Barbara, only one misstep from a nursing home, can never be too careful. If the police and fire department hear about the hole they will condemn her home and it will be off to an assisted living facility. Maybe she can keep the sinkhole a secret. A stockade fence surrounds her backyard and she rarely has visitors. She could cover the hole with a tarp. Sometimes, according to the Discovery Channel, sinkholes can lie dormant for years. Barbara, just into her ninth decade, is willing to take on some risk. She will not surrender without a fight. She will not end up in a nursing home or become a burden to her son.

The doorbell tolls nonstop. Barbara caught one of the Costello boys smearing a gooey purple mess over the doorbell button last month. He had recited an exhaustive list of vulgarities before finally telling Barbara to mind her own business.

She opens the door. It’s the Costello boys’ moon faced father. “I thought you’d like to know that I’m suing you,” says Mr. Costello.

“Okay,” answers Barbara.

“Don’t you want to know why?”

“Not really. Lawsuits take years. If you tell me now I’ll probably just forget by the time the case goes to trial in two or three years. If I hire a lawyer, it will take even longer than that.” Barbara is a big fan of the crime and court TV channels.

“You’ve got a hole in your backyard. One of my boys almost fell into it last night. He could have been seriously hurt.”

The brothers, ADHD teenagers, are tossing M&M candies at a treed cat.

“It sounds like trespassing,” says Barbara.

“You’ve got an attractive hazard,” Mr. Costello retorts.

“It’s not a swimming pool. It’s a hole. Who would be attracted to a hole?”

“A jury will decide,” proclaims Mr. Costello.

“Did your son fall into the hole?”

“Almost. He’s already having nightmares. Also post-traumatic stress…”

Barbara shuts the door before Mr. Costello finishes diagnosing his son’s anxiety disorders. Her throbbing knees take her to the backyard. The hole, about 15 feet across, appears perfectly round, its edges sharp. The sinkholes on the Discovery Channel were misshapen and crumbling. Were space aliens somehow involved? Is it paranormal – like crop circles? She tosses a stone into the hole and holds her breath. Nothing.

Barbara stoops and tentatively touches an inside wall. It’s warm. Of course! There’s a meteorite at the bottom of the hole still radiating heat after its atmospheric entry. Unless it is a prank. Barbara recalls watching a mean-spirited TV show, a nasty Candid Camera. But why would anyone dig a deep hole, remove the dirt, and then secretly record an old lady’s reaction?

Barbara peeks into the abyss and yells, “Hello!” If it is the TV show people, she just won’t sign a release.

“Hello!”

The greeting does not emanate from the hole. Barbara slowly straightens and turns towards the open gate. A middle-aged man who resembles her son is standing next to a brown duffel bag.

“What do you want?” Barbara asks.

“I’m from the geology department at the University at Buffalo. We heard about your hole. May I come in?”

It could be a scam. Criminals digging holes at night and then demanding outrageous sums of money to refill them before the neighbors sue or the authorities condemn your house is no longer considered outrageous behavior. Barbara remembers Dateline blowing the whistle on a quick driveway repair con a few years ago.

“I don’t have any money to pay you.”

“I just would like your permission to investigate the hole. It came to the university’s attention less than an hour ago…”

“Who told the university about it?

The geologist walks up to Barbara and shakes her hand. “It’s all over the Internet. One of Google’s satellites picked it up last night.”

“So a lot of people know about the hole.”

“Millions. All over the world. This is the first virgin hole the Google Earth Satellite has ever detected. It is a very big deal.”

Barbara, who doesn’t own a computer, knows enough about the Internet to understand that most people online have short attention spans. They’ll look at the hole for a few seconds and then move on to a talking cat. Only a geologist could care enough about a hole to drive 15 miles from Buffalo to Niagara Falls just to see it up close.

He is stretching his right arm over the hole and squeezing a silver device the size of a tennis ball. “Laser,” he says. He retracts his arm, contemplates the sphere, and smiles.

“What is it?”

“I don’t think this hole ends!” His voice is high and giddy. “This is wonderful! The university has more sophisticated equipment, but I believe this is a bottomless hole!”

“Is that good?”

“Is an endless supply of energy good?”

“I suppose…”

He grabs his duffel bag and sprints for the gate. “I’ll be back with high-tech equipment.”

Barbara needs to call her son. She doesn’t want to disturb him with a silly problem about a hole, but Barbara is convinced this isn’t going to end well. Whoever heard of an endless hole! Why hasn’t the Discovery Channel ever aired even a few minutes on endless holes? They certainly sound as thought-provoking as crop circles.

Two men are waiting for Barbara inside her kitchen. They politely stand when she enters the room.

“Hello Barbara. We saw the open door and let ourselves in. We couldn’t help overhearing the conversation about the endless hole.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m you’re mayor,” says the tall skinny one.

“And I’m the chairman of the council” says the short one.

“We are here to help you,” says the mayor. “This hole is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“It can be good for both the city and you,” says the chairman. “It’s a win-win situation.”

“Are you planning on taking my house?” Barbara asks. She eases into a chair. Her knees are swollen. “I do want to keep living here. All my memories are here…”

“I hear you,” interrupts the chairman. “My mother is the same way.”

“We’re planning on changing the name of this street to Barbara Berry Street,” proclaims the mayor

“People won’t like that,” answers Barbara. “People hate change. There’d be lawsuits.”

“Then we won’t change it,” says the chairman. “Consider it a favor. See how easy it is working with your friends and neighbors? This city cares.”

“But I didn’t want to change the name of my street…”

“Do you think any out-of-towners would do you any favors?” asks the mayor.

 “And I wouldn’t even talk to the Indians,” adds the chairman. “They makes millions from their casino and don’t like to share. They say they’re a sovereign nation. They could claim that your house is on an Indian burial ground and – just like that – you’d lose your home and any chance of making money.”

“But it’s just a harmless hole,” protests Barbara. “Who would spend money to look at a hole in my backyard?”

The mayor beams. He resembles his campaign posters. “I’m glad you asked, Barbara. Niagara Falls, one of the natural wonders of the world, is only three miles from your home. Millions of tourists gaze in awe at its majestic wonder every year.”

“I know about the falls,” interrupts Barbara. “I’ve lived here for 80 years.”

The mayor continues to talk. “But after the tourists look at the falls for 15 minutes they get bored.  I blame the Internet and video games. Thirty years ago people looked at the falls for almost an hour. The hole in your backyard, the Endless Wonder, will give the tourists something else to see. Businesses will spring up overnight on the streets from the falls to your house.”

“Will I have to move?” Barbara studies the mayor’s frozen grin.

“You will want to move,” he answers. “You will have enough money to buy the house of your dreams.”

“So I will have to leave. I knew it.”

“Let’s skip to the bottom line,” states the chairman. “We are willing to let you keep seven percent of the gross income from the hole. That’s seven percent of ticket sales and souvenirs. And I’m not just talking about T-shirts.”

“What are you talking about?” asks the mayor.

“What’s the first thing people want to do when they see a deep hole?” asks the chairman. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “They want to throw something in it. Well, we’ll only allow people to throw official Niagara Falls plastic balls that must be purchased from us for five dollars apiece. We can have them manufactured for five cents apiece in China.”

“Not bad,” says the mayor, clearly impressed. “Maybe we’ll sell ad space on the balls to local businesses. The Lasagna Lagoon. Pasta Palace.”

“We could have the Endless Wonder open for business in a few days,” says the chairman. “It usually takes ten years to build a souvenir stand in the city, but the hole is already done.”

“At least ten years,” says the mayor. “There are environmental studies, union negotiations, lawsuits, strikes…”

Barbara disrupts the mayor’s soliloquy. “The man from the university said the hole is going to be used as a source of energy.”

“Those eggheads see energy in everything,” says the chairman. “Wind, sun, garbage, tides…”

“I’ll need some time to think about this,” says Barbara. She’s tired and needs some tea.

A cold shadow creeps across the kitchen table.

“I’m from the NSA.” A baseball mitt sized hand waves an official looking identification badge before their eyes. “This house must be vacated within 24-hours.”

“You can’t do that,” states the mayor. “Haven’t you ever heard of the constitution?”

Barbara has watched enough Frontline specials to know that the federal government can do whatever it wants. If the government takes pity on her they will find her a home through their witness protection program, probably in Arizona or New Mexico, maybe not too far from her son.

“I’ll bet this is about terrorism,” says the chairman. “You’ll dangle suspected terrorists over the hole until they talk.”

“Is this about rendition?” asks the mayor. “Does this hole end somewhere outside the United States?”

“You’re not even close,” says the agent, still hovering overhead. “Remember – 24-hours.”

Barbara recalls a news report on energy independence. “The government is going to use the hole to dump nuclear waste. They’ve been trying to find a place to store spend fuel rods for decades.”

The agent is silent.

The mayor is aghast. He stands and pounds the table with his fist. “That would be the end of our city! We’ll fight you!”

“Twenty-four hours,” replies the agent.

***

Barbara makes herself a pouched egg and some tea. She watches a few minutes of cable news and then finishes her Agatha Christie. There’s dusting and vacuuming and then some baked fish. What would be the point in calling her son? It’ll be all right. She survived the Great Depression, World War II, breast cancer, and the death of her husband. She can always call her son tomorrow.

Barbara can’t sleep. Her body finally relaxes – sleep is imminent – when an outside noise startles her awake. She peeks through the blinds. Two men appear to be pushing a third man into the hole. They’re all wearing suits. The limp man is wet with blood. Maybe it is a dream. Dead bodies, nuclear waste, and plastic balls from China clutter her thoughts.

The doorbell rings and Barbara scrutinizes the digital clock with extra-large numerals. It is 8:05. She did sleep. The doorbell continues to chime. It is probably the Costello boys or their father. Maybe one of the boys – or both – fell into the hole. Or is it the government? Has it been 24-hours? She brushes her teeth and hair to the accompaniment of the chimes. Barbara will not be rushed. It is still her home. It is still her hole. She slips on a dress and slowly makes her way to the living room door.

“Where is it?” yells the mayor.

“Good morning,” answers Barbara.

“What happened to the hole?” asks the chairman.

She follows the two men into her backyard where the government agent and the geologist are standing. The hole is gone. Her lawn is once again an unremarkable blend of fescue and creeping charlie.

“It’s been known to happen,” the geologist is explaining to the agent. “Holes are fascinating events. Geologically they are classified as non-objects. Technically this was a non-event.”

The agent walks away without a backwards glance.

“The Endless Wonder could have been a real moneymaker,” says the mayor. “People are just afraid of change.”

The chairman stares at Barbara and shakes his head. “Barbara Berry Street is a non-starter.”

Everyone is gone. The hole is gone. Barbara, in her kitchen, sipping green tea, questions the past 24-hours. Did any of it happen? Is she experiencing the first stage of Alzheimer’s disease? She has read books on Alzheimer’s, watched TV programs, but there never was a clear explanation about the actual experiences. Are there hallucinations? She butters her rye toast. There’s no longer a reason to call her son. She again has her home to herself. The kitchen floor must be washed. She remembers the towels still inside the dryer from before all the nonsense. Barbara firmly grasps the handrail during her descent into the basement. She’s only one stumble away from a nursing home. She pauses halfway down. She feels its presence but continues to focus on the narrow wooden steps.

The hole is smaller, maybe five feet in diameter, but it’s her hole all right. She walks to the far corner of the basement, a neglected area of old books and broken tools. She slides out of her slippers and sits on the rim of the hole. A pleasant warmth, not unlike the heat from the gas dryer, surges into her feet and courses through her legs. Barbara wiggles her toes. She raises and lowers her legs, effortlessly and without pain. She’s had bad knees for over 40 years. She closes her eyes and sleep nibbles at her consciousness. The hole won’t let anything bad happen to her and she won’t let anything bad happen to it. Is this beginning of the end? She knows life could be worse.