There's something very wrong with my street.. - Part 1

By Henry S.

My street is very old. Probably one of the first paved streets in my state. It has a very long history and is celebrated by the town for still standing after nearly 100 years, and houses many of our state's treasured businesses now, my favorite being the cinnamon roll shop. No joke, people line up around the block to get a taste of them. One thing that sucks is that there is always constuction. That's because the road is notoriously unstable. Potholes galore, and it seems they appear faster than the construction crews are able to respond. This is a daily annoyance, as I live in a house on this street. I'll call it McNamee Ave to avoid disclosing my whereabouts. Due to McNamee being so old, and my town also being just as old, my house was constructed before any zoning laws were established. There are mostly businesses on the street now, built within the last 10 years, as most of the original houses had deteriorated due to age and neglect. During the 70s and until about a decade ago, the town was in deep debt and led by corrupt politicians that sold out the citizens in favor of paying themselves, and being incentivised to the close off the businesses that happened to be going under during the recession. By the 90s, the town was known for poverty, and therefore high crime. Many abandoned the town in favor of more suburban areas. It wasn't until the largest tape and adhesive manufacturer in the region started to build factories around the 2010s that more industries decided it would be a good idea to reinvest in my town. Tech companies built headquarters here, and swanky boutiques sprang up out of nowhere. I moved here right before this boom started. It was the cheapest property I could find, and I had many handyman friends and family, as well as being a trained woodworker myself, I knew it was perfect for starting my life post trade school. And although most of my street has changed since the last 10 years I've been living here, the potholes remain. Worse yet, last month, there was a deep sinkhole in the middle of the street adjacent to my house. The civil engineers tasked with repairing it claimed the sinkhole was 2 meters wide and went 40 meters deep, and that nobody had predicted this would occur, as the street would regularly be scanned for early signs of sinkhole formation. This sinkhole formed in broad daylight, while the street was active.



It was one of the rare periods there was no construction right outside my house, and the street was busy. My brother, Tom, had came to visit that day, and I was showing off my new grill. I had been a charcoal user for years, bu the propane just made sense to switch to. Tom agreed vehemently, as it was his recommendation and was the grill he intended on purchasing for his family once his reliable, but aging model of the same brand gave out. It was 6:30pm and Tom was getting ready to leave, as he was an EMT that worked from 8-6. He walked to his car across the street, we waved to each other and exchanged a final joke. The moment he softly stepped on the gas, the concrete began to form cracks as he approached the middle of my street. It was in no time that a thunderous clatter of rocks exploded the eardrums of everyone who had been witnessing this catastrophe. I saw large cunks of concrete snap and fall into the newly formed abyss, and Tom's car was being taken with them. It was so fast, I couldn't even scream before Tom's car was now nowhere to be seen. It was now silent, possibly the quietest this street has ever been. Not a bird, or even the noise of passing cars in the distance. In a moment of panic, I ran towards the hole. It was pitch black, with the edges bordered by jagged concrete with pieces of multicolored stones falling from the bottoms like a dripping stalgtite. The police found me screaming down the hole, and sat me down to regain my composure and reflect and what had happened. They asked my some questions I dont remember, I just sat on the curb and watched as the rescue team that had just arrived rappel down the hole. The police asked me to go back to my home, as they were going to have to close off the road, and that I was in the way. I did as told, and walked back to my house, still in shock from what had occured. The days went by, my boss had given me a week days off after hearing the news. Most days, I would sit on the front porch with my parents and sister who I had invited over, waiting for the moment we saw Tom being carried out. With each passing day, the hope he would come out lessened. It was around 6 in the morning on the 8th day of the search that I got a knock on the door. The head of the rescue team informed me that not a trace could be found during their search, no car, no body, no evidence of survival. He said it is most likely Tom will remain missing, and it is time to begin the process of acceptance. This was the most devastating news I felt I could get. I calmly told the officer that I'm going to need a minute alone. This week was when we made the funeral arrangements. It was a somber period, but the service was bittersweet, as I was glad to see my living family members, and I appreciated being able to talk to them still.



I left the funeral parlor that night, feeling like I could start the grieving process. I pulled into a parking space across from my house, staring towards the hole that consumed my brother. My stomach would feel uneasy each time I was reminded. I shut the car door, and walked towards my house. It was raining, and the faint putter of raindrops hitting the ground calmed me down. But there was another sound I heard against the peaceful rain that disturbed me. It sounded like sobbing, reverberant and dark, only faintly clawing at my senses. I didn't like hearing it, I immediately thought it was my brother, but the voice was nothing like his. I just wanted to go inside my home, but I had to get closer to the hole to get there. Finally, the sound was no longer as I shut the door to my house. It was time for me to start working on a new project for a client of mine down in my basement workshop. It would relax me, and keep my mind off my brother, as my passion for woodworking tended to get me in trouble due to the focus I put in it. I've been late to my family's weekly gatherings almost every time because I just cant put down my tools! Anyways, I started work on some sketches for the project, an ornately carved wooden statue. It was a scene of 2 birds fighting over a nut. These inital sketches were going well according to my client, and I happened to agree. It was getting later in the night after a few hours of work, and I started to head back upstairs, when I thought I heard knocking. Of course, I wasn't expecting anyone, so I ignored it. I continued through the hall covered in bookshelves to my room. I heard it again, but it sounded as if it was coming from the basement. I began to worry the basement was becoming unstable due to the recent sinkhole, and that my house may cave in. I ran towards the stairs to see, but ebverything seemed normal. It was silent for about 6 seconds, staring into the basement, when I heard the knocking again, certainly coming from the basement. I had to check out what was going on now. I walked down there, took a look around, and there it was again. It was coming from the wall. I put my ear up against it to see if I could tell what it was, maybe an animal, or the subpump system backing up due to the rain, something that would commonly happen here. It didn't ever sound like that though. I noticed a small amount of what looked like water coming up from under the wall, so I had to check outside to see if I needed to clear whatever was backing it up. It was still pouring, luckily I had an umbrella by the door.



I started towards my shed, which had a shovel I could use to clear leaves and debris from any blocked drainage around my house. After grabbing the shovel, I closed the creaky wooden door of my shed, I felt uneasy as I heard the weeping again. I stood there, trying to pinpoint the exact whereabouts of the source, as it couldn't be from the hole. I pondeered, feeling it was probably just a tree creaking in the wind, but then heard a banging noise from my house! When I ran back inside and down into the basement, I expected to see a flood beginning. This was not the case luckily, and I was relieved to see the basement looking almost the same. I noticed one difference that maybe could've explained the sound. There was now a small hole, about the size of a penny, in the wall I had heard the knocking from. Nothing besides a small pick could have been used to chisel this hole, and the fact that it appeared so rapidly is very strange. Out of curiosity, I put my eye against the hole, hoping to see what it was. It was pitch black, but I could feel heat coming from the hole, warming my eye. Now what happened right after, I'm not sure I can explain. What felt like a wet, rubbery, muscular "worm" touched my eye. I bolted backwards, and ran upstairs to wash my eyes. Was it a rat? It felt like something touched my eye, and that it meant to do it. It has been 2 days since then, and I havent gone back down there. I keep hearing banging from down there, but haven't had to courage to go back down. That is until today. I am planning on heading back down there and will post more about the situation as I find out what is going on, because it is certainly not normal, and I think it has to do with the sinkhole.