(This is a dark fiction I wrote a while back. It sits around two thousand words, after a painful edit.)
“I don’t know about this, Mitch,” Bobby said, scratching his head. “It’s a long way down.”
Mitch held the fishing line where they had marked the depth of the hole. It was twenty feet deeper than they had estimated.
“No biggee,” Mitch said, his usual confidence shining through, “we still have enough rope.” Bobby kept his doubts to himself. Mitch was fourteen, two years older; he was practically an adult. If he was sure they could do it, then it could be done.
The two boys had scavenged sixty feet of rope and miscellaneous items for their fortune hunting. Their fishing line and sinker measurement had the hole almost fifty feet deep.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Bobby asked. “Your Gramps said it was only thirty.”
“He said it was about thirty,” Mitch corrected. “It was a long time ago, but this is the place. There aren’t any other holes like this near Camby Road. We checked, remember?”
Mitch’s grandfather had spent a great deal of time in jail over the years. It was only in the last couple of years that he got to know his grandson. A week earlier, he died in hospital from a chronic lung infection. His legacy was a poor one, rife with years of robbery, assault, and prison. The only thing of value he left behind was stowed in an abandoned mine, the unmarked entrance to which was located on INCO property.
“We can’t chicken out,” Mitch went on as he double checked the rope. “This might be the only chance we have to make it out of Bear Valley. I don’t want to spend my life here with some shitty job or welfare. This is it.”
“We could die down there,” Bobby said, as though they had not covered that possibility before.
“Listen,” Mitch said. “You are the only guy I can trust, that’s why I brought you in on this. I might need your help down there, too. Remember, if I go down there alone, I keep it all.”
“I know,” Bobby said, feeling a little ashamed of his last minute fear. “I’m not chickening out. I just want to make sure we do this right. Y’know, be safe.”
“There’s not much more we can do about that,” Mitch said, looking through his pack sack. “Everybody is talking about INCO opening up this mine again, because of the price of gold and all that. If we wait too long we might not get a chance to do this. I would rather die in this hole than live poor my whole life.” This had been something of a mantra since Mitch’s grandfather revealed the hidden inheritance.
Their decent was slow and careful. Mitch went first, holding the rope with white-knuckled effort as he lowered himself down. The walls of the hole were close enough to reach, and had plenty of ledges, but the rope was the only secure thing to hold. The edges had grown mossy and crumbled, making them dangerous handholds. Bobby watched as Mitch descended into the gloom; the sight did nothing to alleviate his concerns. Bobby watched a faint light grow stronger down the hole, Mitch barely visible in the greenish glow.
“How’s the rope holding?” he called up to Bobby. He sounded a thousand miles away.
“It looks fine,” Bobby yelled back. “The knot is solid and the log hasn’t budged.”
“Good, I’m almost there,” Mitch replied. “Start down after me in a minute.”
Bobby waited for about a minute, as near as he could reckon. The trip down was not as bad as he had expected. The tightness of the walls around him made a fall seem less likely; the illusion of safety being a comfort against the dangerous reality. When Mitch spoke, Bobby almost fell from the sudden shock of broken silence.
“It took you long enough,” Mitch grumbled. Bobby looked down for the first time since entering the hole. Mitch stood not more than ten feet below. The green light of a glow stick made him look sinister.
“Sorry, Mitch,” Bobby said sarcastically as he lowered himself to the floor. “Where did you get the glow stick?”
Mitch smiled in the eerie green light. “Lifted a couple from Garner’s store,” Mitch answered. “He won’t miss them. Besides, I can pay him back once we get this gold out of here.”
“Right,” Bobby said, trying to sound like he was cool with it. His parents were not much better off than Mitch’s father, a widower since Mitch was three, though they frowned on things like stealing. Mitch’s father, on the other hand, was an alcoholic from a family well acquainted with the judicial system. As much as Mitch’s behaviour bothered him, Bobby couldn’t shake his loyalty to his best, lifelong friend. Mitch may have been rough around the edges, but he was always there to scare off bullies or share a stolen chocolate bar.
“The tunnel ahead is where the old mine starts,” Mitch said, pointing with his glow stick. “It’s exactly how Gramps said it was.”
“It’s not too far, though, right?” Bobby asked. “Like, maybe a hundred feet or something?”
“That’s what he said,” Mitch replied, “but it was a long time ago, so it might be more or less than that. What’s for sure is that this is the right place. We’re going to be rich, Bobby.”
Bobby smiled at that. He knew it would be harder than just showing up at a bank or pawn shop with a bar of gold, yet the promise of long term wealth was hypnotic. Ever since Mitch had approached him, Bobby imagined a life of comic books, pizza and video games. He would live with Mitch in a mansion and never need to work.
They had agreed Bobby would go first in the tunnel since Mitch went first down the rope. Bobby had taken a small flashlight from the shed. It definitely threw less light than when he tested it in his room the night before. Still, it was enough with Mitch’s glow stick providing light from behind. They made better time once they reached the old mine level, where the floor was mostly level and ceiling high enough to stand straight. Considering how narrow the way had been before, the mine passage was spacious.
Bobby was certain the walk felt longer than it was. His sense of distance was clouded by the dark, unbending and featureless ruin of a mine. The only sounds came from their nervous breathing and crunch of loose stone underfoot. It felt like the world above was a million miles away.
Suddenly, the floor was clogged with loose rock that blocked their way. A quick look with the flashlight made it clear the ceiling had collapsed at this point.
“The dead end,” Bobby whispered. “Just like your Gramps said. This has to be it.”
He looked to the right, where the box was supposed to be. Mitch was looking, too. Bobby moved into the corner until his flashlight was only a few feet from the wall. A rotten box, hinges and lock heavily rusted, appeared in the beam.
“The box!” Bobby exclaimed, almost jumping at the sight of it. “I can’t believe it. It’s right there.”
“Holy crap, you’re right,” Mitch said. “Gramps wasn’t crazy. This is the real deal. Go ahead and open it, Bobby. You saw it first. I’ll get the pack sack ready.”
Bobby was too excited to argue the point. Three bars of gold, stolen from the mine by Mitch’s grandfather, lay before them; money enough to live rich for three lifetimes. The lid broke apart before Bobby could get it all the way open. Three dirty bricks lay at the bottom of the ancient, ruined box. Somehow, they still gave off the slightest shine of yellow. Bobby rubbed one of them with his sleeve and the golden colour was undeniable. The deal was two for Mitch and one for him, but that was more than enough for a life of comic books, pizza and video games.
“Aaahh!” Bobby cried as the beam from his flashlight crossed a bony hand next to the box. “What the hell is that?!” He stumbled back and looked again. The hand was connected to the remains of a skeleton, with only scant remains of clothing clinging to it.
“That’s Scott McMurphy,” Mitch said, looking far too calm for the circumstances. “He was my Gramps’ partner.”
Bobby took a moment to process this. It was the only thing between him and pure panic. “What happened? Why is he here? Did he come back to take it and fall or something? Did your Gramps know about this?”
“Yeah, he knew,” Mitch said calmly. “I just didn’t want to tell you. You might not have come if you knew there was a body down here.”
“But what happened? How did he die?” Bobby was in shock. He wanted to look away, shine the light somewhere else, except for the horrible, mad fear that dead Scott McMurphy would stand up and kill them.
“Gramps killed him,” Mitch said. “He needed to be sure the hiding place would stay secret.”
“He was his partner…” Bobby trailed off in thought for a moment. “Why?”
“Nice guys finish last,” Mitch said in the same, steady voice. Bobby looked at his best friend, bathed in the sick, green light of a stolen glow stick, suddenly noticing he held a knife.
“Mitch?” Bobby squeaked out. “What are you doing?”
“What Gramps told me to,” Mitch said, slowly approaching. “You’re a loose end, man. I hate to do it, but I can’t risk this getting out.”
“You can have it all, Mitch,” Bobby whined, backing away. “I won’t say anything, honest. Just don’t kill me down here, okay?”
There would be no fighting Mitch. Even without the knife, he was a head taller with a deceivingly strong frame. Bobby was wiry, yes, but knew he could never win. Bobby scrambled over the loose, fallen rocks until he was cornered. He lashed out with a wild kick, hoping to get lucky. Mitch countered with a punch that came short. In a last, desperate attempt to survive, Bobby tried to lunge past him and run for the hole. If he could only get clear he might make it.
Bobby flashed his light into Mitch’s eyes and jumped over the rocks awkwardly. The flash of pain in his left leg took a moment to register; the adrenaline nearly muted it out. Bobby kept moving forward, half crawling and half running as Mitch pawed at him. When they cleared the rocks, Mitch struck again, cutting Bobby’s left Achilles through to the bone.
Bobby tried to stand, only his foot could not hold him. Terror subsided into angry resignation in a flash.
“Why, Mitch?” Bobby shouted. “Why did you bring me here? Why did you even tell me about it? Are you just a psycho or something?”
Mitch hesitated, breathing hard. “Sorry,” he said. “Gramps couldn’t remember if he booby trapped the box or not. I needed you to open it, just in case.”
Bobby suddenly felt light-headed. “But why me? You could have brought someone else. I’m your friend.”
“You were the only one I could trust not to blab,” Mitch replied, the first hint of remorse entering his voice. “It had to be you.”
“Mitch,” Bobby pleaded, his strength fading, “you can still trust me. I can say it was an accident or something. You can keep the gold. I’ll never tell…”
“That treasure is all I’ll ever get from my family,” Mitch said, sounding tired. “Mom is dead and Dad is just a drunk bum. Gramps wasn’t much better, really, but at least he left me something. I have nothing else. I can’t risk it. Sorry.”
Mitch struck again. Bobby, weakened and shocked, put up a poor defense. As his friend finished him off, Bobby couldn’t escape the thought of how far down he was.