When I was growing up there was a place that all the kids knew about. I suppose the adults knew about it too, but I wasn’t doing much talking to adults back then.
If you drove out — and the road was unfinished, real bumpy — on Waterloo — and that would take you north of the city — and then, once you passed Lincoln, you needed to slow way down and look for the right spot — there’d be an opening in the trees where the fence was tumbled and you could move it around — you had to get out of your car to do this but luckily there was never much traffic on Waterloo, and seeing as most young folks went out there at night, there was even less cause for rushing, though the dark did make getting through without any scratches or rips from the barbed wire a tricky proposition — if you had to compare, that was the harder thing of the two, getting through vs finding the damn spot, though both weren’t easy.
Some nights it seems the spot would move around on you. Several times I remember just giving up and going home. But once you’re through, you get back in your car and you drive. You have to drive because it’s still pretty far from the road, but soon — after thirty minutes or so — you can see there’s more rock around than should be in just a green field and you’re there, and you can walk right up to it and look in.
There was a hole in the ground that went down farther than any light could catch it and spread out bigger than any lake we got close by.
This is part of The Exquisite Corpse, a daily writing challenge.