Show of Evil

yuh know what I main, Marty. Feel it, don't yuh? A hurtin' in the chest. Yer stomach's on fire. Head feels like it's in a vice and somebody's squaizin' it tighter and tighter. Got a hard-on waitin' fer it't' happen. You feel it, don't yuh, Marty? The urge to kill.' Vail's finger tightened on the trigger. 'Or maybe I shouldn't call you Marty? Too familiar. How about Mr Vail? Or Mr Counsellor? Mr Prosecutor? Martin? Oh, help me, Martin,' he jibed, slipping easily from one accent to the other. 'Ah'm so scairt and confused. I lost time, Martin, and Ah jest know sompin' terrible has happened. Plaise help me, suh.'

Hate ate up Vail's insides, assaulted his head, gnawed at his heart. Stampler was right, he wanted to squeeze the trigger, watch the bullet rip into his chest. He wanted to watch Stampler die.

'Marty?' Flaherty said behind him.

 'Stay out of it, Dermott.'

'Let me go bring him in. You're making me nervous.'

 'How 'bout it, Martin? Can yuh help me, suh?' Stampler began to laugh. 'I'm goan turn 'round now, I'm jes' gonna walk away from you. Go ahead, shoot an unarmed man in the back. That's what you want to do, isn't it?'

 'He's pushing you, Marty.'

Vail felt the cold trigger against his finger. His fist tightened a little more.

'I know what he's doing,' Vail said. 'I'm going out there and get him.'

 'Stay right there, Dermott, can't you read the sign?' The sign, weather-scarred and leaning sideways in the drifting snow, said:

DANGER

UNSAFE

DANGER

This mine shaft has been sealed

No admittance to this area

DANGER

UNSAFE

 DANGER

And behind it the mound in the snow was the cover that had been placed over the shaft years before. Vail called out to Stampler. 'Put your hands behind your head and walk towards me.'

Stampler walked away from them. 'Ah'm leavin now, Martin.' He laughed harder. 'Catch me if you can.'

'You're standing right over mine shaft five, Stampler,' Vail called to him. 'The hole. Remember the hole?' He pointed to an old sign lying near the shed:

KC&M MINE

NUMBER FIVE.

Stampler hesitated. He looked back at Vail and Flaherty, then at the rusting lift mount. The groaning, clinking, awful sound it used to make rang again in his ears. He looked down at his feet and his gaze pierced the snow and boards and plummeted into the darkness. He saw twelve men - eleven men and a boy - suspended under the steel mount, being lowered from the land of the living into that pit of pure darkness; men, old long before their years, bent over and stooped from chopping away at walls of coal; saw the light at the top of the shaft as it shrank, growing smaller and smaller until he couldn't see it any more; dropped into air that smelled of bad eggs, with his mouth so dry his tongue stuck to his teeth. Dropping down into hell. A pitch-black hell.

'What's with him?' said Flaherty. 'He's just staring at the ground.'

The boards under Stampler's feet whimpered and sagged ever so slightly. Stampler stared at his feet. Snow cascaded between the boards. His jaw began throbbing as his pulse increased. He took a step forward. The ancient boards, ruined by years of bad weather and neglect, groaned as Stampler's weight tortured them. The platform sagged even more. He stopped - afraid to move ahead and afraid to stay in place. He took a giant step, put his foot down gently, leaned forward, and swung the other leg beside it. There was a crack under his feet. It sounded like a rifle shot as the board underfoot broke.

'Oh, Jesus,' Stampler said to himself. He started to run and with each step the rotted platform collapsed underfoot, disintegrating behind him as he dashed madly towards the trees. Then his leg crashed through the platform and he fell forward, felt the platform behind him start to fall away. He started to crawl and it cracked again. This time the platform began disappearing from under him. He leaned forward, reaching out, trying to find something to grab. His fingers burst through the snow, dug into the rotten wood. He pulled himself forward and another section broke away. He looked over his shoulder. Behind him, like an enormous, obscene black mouth, the hole kept spreading.

'Aw, Jesus!' he screamed. He started to fall and he dug his fingernails deeper into the wood. His weight pulled at the nails, but they began to slide, and splinters, like needles, pierced his fingertips, jutted under his fingernails, and punctured the quick. He was too terrified to cry out in pain. He was scrambling for his life as the decayed platform disintegrated completely around him. The last boards gave way.

Stampler looked back for an instant. His eyes locked on to Vail's.