Doorway to Hell by Susan Mehr
Legend says a presence exists inside the cave; I say they’re wrong. I’m convinced it’s the cave; alive with souls of the dead miners. So many wanted to strike it rich; gold, diamonds; it’s anyone’s guess what these miners were looking for, in the end, the miners found death. You can hear their moans alongside a whistle as the breeze twists through the shafts. Their endless cries warn anyone who’s brave enough to enter.
‘Enter at your own risk,’ the elders caution the city cowboys who believe they know better. They don’t listen, they never do, and they’ll never emerge out of hell’s door. That’s what the locals named the cave.
I take a step closer. Sent of scorched wood, the entrance of Hell’s door screams shades of red. Is it the blood of those men absorbed by the cave quenching thirst for revenge? What a sacrilege. One by one each man dug deeper into the earth destroying nature in a whim. No consideration, their minds focused on what could make them rich. Miners never considered what they were digging into might be alive. Stupidity to conclude life cannot exist on a different plane.
Two city cowboys entered yesterday. They haven’t emerged. No one wants to volunteer to lead a search inside the cave. Do you blame them? The Village people warned the city cowboys. I raise my hand covering my nose and mouth. A foul stench fills the air. That’s how close I’m willing to get. I take steps back and into onlookers keeping vigil. They’re keeping watch; beginning the final countdown.
Now everything I have to say to the missing city cowboys, “My prayers are with you.”