Manhole

Three boys trudged up a hill in the sunshine of a beautiful spring morning. Colt let the way, as the tallest and oldest of the group at fourteen. A short way behind him came Jordan, age thirteen, and way down the hill, struggling to keep up, wheezed Billy. 

“Hey, you guys, wait up!” Billy yelled between gulps of air. The hill was steep, and Billy wasn’t built for speed. 

“Try to keep up, lard-ass,” Colt yelled without turning his head.

Jordan glanced up at his friend as he walked. He, too, was panting. So was Colt, probably, but you couldn’t tell from this angle. Jordan returned his gaze to the ground in front of him, and to the crowbar he carried in his right hand.

They had assembled at dawn. The shed in the back yard of Colt’s dad’s house. My fort, as Colt called it. He had given them strict instructions not to be seen. They had set out from there, keeping to the alleys until they reached the edge of town. Only then did Colt allow them to speak. 

After climbing for another minute or two, Jordan reached the top of the hill, where Colt waited. Together, the two of them watched Billy as he trudged up the slope.

“Jeez, look at him,” Colt said. “If he slipped and started rolling, he’d take out the whole town.”

Jordan giggled. It was better to laugh at that kind of stuff.

Billy reached them, finally. “Jeez Louise,” he said, and flopped on the grass, panting. “I need a breather.”

In response, Colt turned and walked away. Jordan stood for a moment, torn.

“C’mon, better keep up.” He followed Colt. A moment later, Billy groaned and rolled over and got up. He sighed deeply and walked after the older boys.

A quarter of a mile away, Jordan spied their destination: A concrete cylinder jutting out of the ground, about three feet high and five feet around. Beyond that was a cliff, and beyond that, the sea.

Colt reached it first. Jordan arrived a moment later, and the two stood, staring at the cylinder. Behind them, they could hear Billy approaching, wheezing. He came and stood beside them. They stared. 

“What do you think it is?” Colt asked. He had asked the same thing the first time they saw it, two days ago.

Jordan wanted to say, Who cares? It was no big deal. Just a thing sticking out of the ground with a manhole on top. But when Colt found his latest obsession, you didn’t say things like that. Instead, he said, “I have no idea.”

Colt stepped forward and stared at the manhole. “Give me that crowbar.”

Jordan handed it to him. Colt fitted on end into a divot on the edge of the lid, and pressed down. Nothing happened. He tried again.

“Sumbitch is heavy.”

He leaned on the crowbar, and the lid popped up for a moment and then fell back into place. Colt looked at Jordan.

“Don’t just stand there with your thumb up your ass, come help me.”

Jordan stepped forward and put his weight on the crowbar. Billy stepped forward, too, but then stepped back again.

Together, the two boys put their weight on the bar, and the lid lifted again.

“That’s it!” Colt cried. “Now shift it over!”

Jordan didn’t know what that meant, but Colt lunged toward him, stepping on his foot, and the lid moved a few inches before sliding off the crowbar. It banged back down, leaving a crescent of dark visible from the hole.

“Now we’ve got it,” Colt said. He jumped onto the cylinder and grabbed the edge of the cover with both hands and pulled. It slid with a metallic groan and reached the edge and tipped over.

“Look out,” Colt yelled and the Jordan and Billy jumped out of the way. The lid landed on its edge and rolled a few feet and fell over onto the grass.

“Ha!” Colt said, triumphant. “Beat you!”

Together, the three boys turned their attention to the hole they had uncovered. It appeared completely black. They stood, staring.

“What do you think’s down there?” Colt asked.

“I have no idea,” Jordan said, again.

Colt backed up and looked around. There was a rock, about the size of an egg, a few feet away. He grabbed it and came back and held it out over the hole.

“Listen,” he said, and released the rock. It dropped instantly into darkness and vanished. The boys stood, hushed, listening.

“Man, that—” Billy began.

“Shh!” Colt hissed.

“I thought I heard something,” Jordan said.

“What? What was it?” Colt sounded excited.

“I don’t know, it was right when Billy…” 

After a moment, Colt said, “Way to go, lard-ass.”

“Hang on.” Jordan reached into his pocket and fished out his keys. “Check it out.”

Colt stared at the small flashlight on the keychain, then grabbed it out of Jordan’s hand. He leaned over the hole and flipped it on. All three boys leaned over and looked.

Blackness. Nothing.

“You shoulda brought a better light,” Colt said.

“Maybe we should go,” Jordan said.

“No way. I’m not leaving here until I find out what’s down there.”

Jordan sighed, quietly. 

With a sudden movement, Colt reached out and pushed Jordan on the back.

“Jesus!” Jordan exclaimed, jumping back. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“I’ve got an idea,” Colt said. “I could lower you by your ankles into it.”

“No way,” Jordan said. “No freaking way.”

“Or I could hold your arms, if you’re afraid.”

“There’s no way that’s going to happen.” Jordan’s heart pounded in his chest.

“All right, all right, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

They stared in silence.

“What about you, tubby?” Colt asked. “You up for an adventure?”

Billy backed away from the cylinder. His held his hands up in front of him.

“No way,” he said.

Colt took a step toward him. “C’mon, it’ll be fine. I won’t let you go.”

“Colt, please.” Billy’s eyes were wide.

Colt took another step. “I won’t drop you, I promise. I just want you to take a quick look around.”

Billy was nodding frantically. “Now, Colt,” he said. “You know me, I’m too fat for you to hold me.”

“You calling me a weakling?”

“No, Colt, you’re not a weakling. It’s just… you know me, right? Lard-ass, right? Please, Colt…”

“Relax, Billy. No one’s going to throw you down the hole.”

Billy sagged and dropped his hands. “Jeez, for a second there—”

Colt lunged, faster than Jordan would have thought possible. In a split second, he reached Billy and grabbed him in a bear hug.

Billy screamed, an animal shriek that split the dawn.

“Come on, Billy boy!” Colt yelled. “Don’t fight it!”

Billy screamed again.

Jordan watched as Colt began making his way back to the cylinder.

Billy fought. He had never fought a day in his life but he did now, kicking and thrashing against the arms that held him. “No!” he screamed. “No! No! No! No! No!”

“Shut up!” Colt screamed back, angry now. “Shut up!”

Jordan watched as they traded screams, inching toward the cylinder. Billy thrashed like a wild animal, and for a moment, Jordan thought he might break free. But Colt was strong. With a loud grunt, he lifted Billy and heaved him on top of they cylinder.

Billy went berserk then. He became a ball thrashing energy, wild, desperate. Somehow he got an arm free and lashed out, scraping Colt across the face. Jordan saw Colt’s eyes go wide in surprise, and then harden into anger again. He let go of Billy, who sprang up, ready to jump down and run for his life. Before he could, Colt stepped in and delivered a vicious punch to his face.

Jordan saw Billy’s head snap back, and the fire in his eyes went out. Dazed, he sagged back atop the hole, his hands making useless grabbing gestures. Colt grabbed Billy’s ankles and turned swung him around. He put Billy’s feet into the hole.

“Colt, stop it,” Jordan said.

Colt ran to the other side of the cylinder. He jumped onto it, behind Billy. Grabbing the younger boy under his arms, he began shoving him closer to the hole.

“Colt, cut it out!” 

“I told you, we’re not leaving till I find out what’s down there!”

Jordan stood rooted. Billy groaned and rolled onto his stomach, his legs dangling out of sight. He shook his head.

“In you go,” Colt said, and shoved Billy’s shoulders. Billy came out of his daze then, and he fought back, clawing at the cement. Colt shoved again and Billy slid further into the hole, his hands tearing at the surface, and Jordan saw one of his fingernails peel back like it was paper. Colt shoved again and Billy slid all the way into the hole and disappeared. Jordan ran forward and saw Billy’s hands, still clutching the ege.

“Jordan!” Billy’s voice came echoing up from the hole. “Help me!”

Colt was hammering at Billy’s fingers with his fists. “Get! In! There!” He pounded viciously. 

Jordan took another step forward. The crowbar lay in the grass next to him.

Colt continued pounding on Billy’s fingers.

Jordan took another step. He was even with Colt now. He peered into the hole and saw Billy looking up at him, his eyes wide with terror.

“Jordan,” Billy said. “Please.”

Jordan didn’t move. He looked at Billy’s pleading eyes and Billy looked back. For a moment, they stared at each other like that, until Billy realized what wasn’t going to happen. Then he let go.

He fell screaming into the darkness, and then there was a wet thwack! and the screaming stopped. Jordan leaned into the hole.

“Billy!”

Colt was beside him, looking down into the hole.

“Billy!” Jordan screamed again.

“Shh,” Colt said. “Listen.”

They listened. Somewhere, a bird tweeted a little song.

From far below them came the sound of a splash.

They stood, staring into the darkness. After what seemed like a long time, Colt said, “Did anyone see you leave your house this morning?”

“No.”

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

“No.”

“Good.” He backed away. Jordan stared down the hole.

From behind him, Colt said, “Help me out here.”

Jordan turned and saw Colt stand the manhole cover on its edge. He rolled it to the base of the cylinder and looked at Jordan.

“I said, help me out here.”

Jordan bent down and grabbed the manhole cover by the edge. Together, they heaved it up onto the cylinder and pushed it into the hole. It slid into place with a metallic clang. 

Jordan stared at the manhole lid.

“Listen,” Colt said. “We can’t go down together. You go first. Try not to let anyone see you, okay? Stick to the alleys like we did on the way up. I’m going to go another way. Got it?”

Jordan said nothing.

Colt’s hand on his shoulder spun him around. The stood, face to face, inches apart.

“Got it?” Colt said again.

“Got it.”

“Good. I don’t want to have to come back up here.”

They stood staring at each other while Colt’s words sank in. Then Colt turned and picked up the crowbar. “Don’t take this with you, it’ll look bad. I’ll take it when I come down.”

“What are you going to do?” Jordan asked.

Colt returned to the cylinder. He rubbed at something on the cement – a thin streak of blood. He picked up something small and white. Billy’s fingernail. He put it in his pocket.

“You go ahead,” he said. “I’m gonna clean this mess up.”